KOMEO AND JULIET > fTT'A. fV/^' Romeo and Juliet By William Shakespeare WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES BY K. Deighton London Macmillan and Co., Limited New York : The Macmillan Company 1905 AU rights reserved First Edition 1S93. Reprinted 1903, 1905. GLASGOW : PRINTED AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS BY ROBERT MACLEHOSE AND CO. LTD. CONTENTS. PAGE Introduction, > . . vii Romeo and Juliet, 1 Notes, gg Index to Notes, ...,.,,. 213 J INTKODUCTION. As to the date at which Borneo and Juliet was first Date of Piay. written, and what its form then was, we have no certain information. Its first printed appearance is the Quarto of 1597, but that quarto was without doubt a pirated one. The second quarto, 1599, is described on the title- page as "newly corrected, augmented, and amended"; and this edition is our best authority for the play in its complete state, though it does not enable us to decide with certainty how far the alteration of form is due to revision by the poet, how far to correction and com- pletion of the pirated quarto. Nor of course does it give us any help as to the date of composition. In- ternal evidence clearly points to two periods of work, the earlier being indicated by the abundance of rhyme and of forced conceits ; and it is now pretty generally held that the j^lay in its original form, or a substantial part of it, was written in 1591 or 1592, and received its final shape in 1596. If the Nurse's words in i. 3. 23 allude, as has been supposed, to the earthquake of 1580, we have the year 1591 as the date of that part of the play, or the year 1593, if the Nurse's miscalculation is to be harmonized with her statement of Juliet's age. It is, however, to be doubted whether any particular ,earthc{uake is alluded to. vii viii ROMEO AND JULIET. Source of the Here we are upon more certain ground. Though the story in its main incidents is found in various old romances and poems, Greek, Italian, and French, Shake- speare's main source was the poem of Bomeus and Juliet by Arthur Brooke, published in 1562, while here and there in the play are indications that he had consulted a translation of Boisteau's Histoire de Deux Amans (itself an adaptation of the Italian Bandello's romance on the same subject) which appeared in Painter's Palace of Pleasure, 1597. He may also have seen a play, probably an English one, to which Brooke refers in his address " to the Eeader," though no such play has come down to us, nor do we even know its title. Brooke's poem of alternated twelve and fourteen syllable rhymes, extends to 3026 lines, and, says Grant White,* " the tragedy follows the poem with a faithfulness which might be called slavish, \vere it not that any variation from the course of the old story was entirely unnecessary for the sake of dramatic interest, and were there not shown in the progress of the action, in the modification of one character, and in the disposal of another, all peculiar to the play, self-reliant dramatic intuition of the highest order. L,For the rest, there is not a personage or a situation, "hardly a speech, essential to Brooke's poem, which has not its counterpart — its exalted and glorified counterpart — in the tragedy. To mention every point of correspondence between the poem and the play, would be to recount here the entire progress of the story in both, accompanied by a description of the characters : . . . Suffice it here to observe, that in the poem we find even Romeo's invisible and soon-forgotten * Shakespeare's Worlcs, Vol. x. pp. 8-10. INTRODUCTION. ix mistress, the remorseless Eosaline, though without her name ; Friar Lawrence addicted to study. . . . the Nurse, greedy, garrulous, gross, and faithless, just as we find her in the play ; the Apothecary, Avhom by ' his heavy countenance ' Romeo ' gessed to be poore,' . . . Tibalt, ' best exercised in feates of armes ' ; and even Friar John, who, seeking to be ' accompanide by one of his profession,' enters a house whence, to carry his brother Lawrence's letter to Romeo, ' he might not issue out agayne, For that a brother 'of the house a day before or twayne Dyed of the plague.' And not only have such minor characters and incidents of the play their germs or counterparts in the old story, but even such incidental passages as the soliloquy uttered by Juliet, terror-stricken at her imagination of what might await her in her kinsmen's vault if she should take the friar's iDotion, and that other soliloquy, in which she passionately calls on Xight and Romeo to come to her. jln brief, Romeo and Jtdiet owes to Shakespeare only its^ J dramatic form and its poetic decoration. But what an exception is the latter ! It is to saj' that the earth owes to the sun only its verdure and its flowers, the air only its perfume and its balm, the heavens only their azure and their glow. Yet this must not lead us to forget that the original tale is one of the most truthful and touching among the few that have entranced the ear and stirred the heart of the world for ages, or that in Shakespeare's transfiguration of it his fancy and his youthful fire had a much larger share than his philo- sophy or his imagination.^ The only variations from the story in the play are the three which have just been alluded to. — The compression of the action, which iu X ROMEO AND JULIET. the story occupies four or five months, to within as many clays, thus adding impeti;osity to a passion which had only depth, and enhancing dramatic effect hy quick- ening truth to vividness ; — the conversion of Mercutio from a mere 'courtier,' 'bold emong the bashfull maydes,' ' courteous of his speech and pleasant of devise,' into that splendid union of the knight and the fine -^ gentleman, in portraying which Shakespeare, with pro- phetic eye piercing a century, shows us the fire of faded chivalry expiring in a flash of wit ; — and the bringing in of Paris (forgotten in the story after his bridal disap- pointment) to die at Juliet's bier by the hand of Romeo, thus gathering together all the threads of this love entanglement to be cut at once by Fate." Outline of the Throughout this tragedy it is to be borne in mind play with re- o o j marks upon that the sccne is Italy, and the actors the passionate the charac- ters, children of the South, passionate alike in love and in hatred. " The mid-July heat," as Dowden says, " broods over the five tragic days of the story. The mad blood is stirring in men's veins during these hot summer days,"* the veins of a race wearing " the shadow'd livery of the burnish'd sun." Material for fateful issues is ready in the long-standing blood-feud of the families of the Montagues and the Capulets. Tragedy is, so to speak, in the air, and it needs but little that the electric current should discharge itself The protagonists of the drama are in the hey-day of life ; the hero handsome, of sprightly wit, trained in all manly accomplishments, brave, and gentle in the security of true courage, but, partly from his surroundings, as yet without a sufficient purpose in life, greatly the slave of emotion, his soul questing about for love and fancying that it has found * Shakspere, His Mind and Art, p. 115. f* INTRODUCTION. XI r \its desire ; the heroine of but fourteen summers, yet of an age at which in those sunny climes love blossoms with a splendour unknown to maidens of the frozen ^Torth, impulsive but fancy-free, of incomparable loveli- ness but a stranger to the mie;ht with which such guerdon dowers her, capable of boundless devotion, deli- cate of mind as of person, trustful, while at the same time instinct with the sensitiveness of whitest purity. In such an atmosphere of blended romance and passion the curtain rises upon a bloody encounter between the servants of the rival houses ever glad of an opportunity to l-enew the ancient quarrel. While the riot is at its height, the heads of the two houses themselves appear upon the scene, no less eager than their servants to join- in the fray. On the entry of Escalus, Prince of Verona, • and his train, the combatants are parted, Capulet accompanying the Prince to his palace, and Montague being ordered to attend him in the afternoon to learn his pleasure regarding the affray. Montague, Lady Montague, and their nephew Benvolio remain, and Lady Montague now inquires of Benvolio as to her son, Eomeo. From the conversation we learn that for some time past he has given way to a deep melancholy, the cause of which his parents have in vain sought to discover. While his conduct is still under discussion Romeo enters, and Benvolio having promised to worm his secret from — him, the father and mother leave the cousins together. As might be anticipated, Romeo's secret is love, or what he takes to be love, for a certain irresponsive Rosaline. That his passion is but a faint shadow of the reality is soon evident. For when persuaded by Benvolio to unbosom himself, he does so in a string of wire-drawn xii ROMEO AND JULIET. conceits, bares his wounds in flimsy tropes, languishes, in clear-cut epigram, disputes in stilted antithesis, play.j^ the mincing sonneteer ; — parades, in a word, all tl]j._ plague-tokens of love's green-sickness, all the emotions, that if genuine Avould have been jealously guarded from closest gaze. His protestations of undying constancy are, however, soon to be tested. For the same night, at a ball given by the Capulets, to which in the hopes of seeing Rosaline he, though unbidden, repairs, he meets Juliet. The result is instantaneous. To him Eosaline had been " The summer pilot of an empty heart Unto the shores of nothing " ; with the sight of Juliet, love finds acknowledged " empire for life." Nor is conviction less swift in hers. A few brief looks, the interchange of less than a dozen sentences, and she owns to herself the mastery of the same power. Eomeo departs ; but for him there can be no rest that night. He has come face to face with realities that demand exercise of will, contempt of danger, action. An hour or so later he finds his way to the garden of his hereditar}^ foe, and by love's instinct to the very spot overlooked by Juliet's chamber. At the window stands the maiden in converse with her- self upon the events of the evening, and, all unconscious of any neighbouring ear, pouring forth her heart's con- fession. Such confession overheard by Romeo puts an end to any hesitancy that might still linger in his mind. Discovering himself, he claims fulfilment of those vows by which in her innocent outpouring Juliet had bpund herself, and now the unspoken contract of looks is INTRODUCTION. xiii ratified by words. Yet it is not Romeo but Juliet who -^es things in their practical light. For a brief space ^^ has had her trepidations at the suddenness of her Tv-.s; "although," she says, "I joy in thee," " I have no joy of this contract to-night : It is too rasli. too unadvised, too sudden, Too like the lig^htning which doth cease to be Ere one can say ' It lightens ' " ; but in spite of this, and though the confession of her love which in fancied security she has made to herself, and which when surprised she has no power to retract, may cause "a maiden blush bepaint" her "cheek," yet in the purity of her heart and the utter surrender of herself which she is importunate to complete, she recoo-- -' nizes that if Eomeo's love resembles hers there is but one issue possible, and that, placed as they are by the jmplacable hatred of their parents, all scruples "as to JPorm and show must yield to more imperative demands and the sanction of marriage put its seal upon their love.* If to Romeo there comes no such swift recoo-ni- * Of this perfect scene it is noticeable that the beauty of thought and language is matched by the beauty of versification. "In two scenes," observes Swinburne, A Sfudj/ of Shakespeare, pp. 35, 6, " we may say that the whole heart or spirit of Borneo and Juliet is summed up and distilled into perfect and pure expression ; and these two are written in blank verse of equable and blameless melody. Outside the garden ' scene in the second act and the balcony scene in the third, there is much that is fanciful and graceful, much of elegiac pathos and fervid if fan- tastic passion ; much also of superfluous rhetoric and (as it were) of wordy melody, which flows and foams hither and thither into something of extravagance and excess ; but in these two there is no flaw, no outbreak, no superflux, and no failure." xiv ROMEO AND JULIET. tion of facts, he at all events needs no spur to urge him forward on the path of happiness. As the day dawns, he hurries off to the cell of his life-long friend and spiritual adviser, Father Laurence, by whose aid he hopes to attain his end. The Friar, trusting that by such alliance the feud between the two families will be healed for ever, yields to the lover's importunities and assents to a secret marriage on the same afternoon. Later in the day, Romeo through Juliet's Nurse is able to convey the glad tidings of the Friar's promise, and early in the afternoon the ceremonj'' is performed. For the present the wedded pair separate, hopefully looking forward to the time when through the instrumentality of the Friar the minds of their parents may be prepared for a discovery of their marriage. Such hope, however, is to be suddenly dashed to the ground. The parting is just over when Eomeo meets Tybalt, nephew of the Capulets, who is seeking him out in order to fasten a quarrel upon him for having uninvited been present at the last night's ball. Eomeo is of course anxious to avoid fighting with Juliet's cousin, and meets his angry taunts with calm replies. His hot-blooded friend Mercutio, however, will not let Tybalt's words pass by, but draws the quarrel upon himself, and in the combat that ensues is stabbed by Tybalt under the arm of Romeo who is endeavouring to part the combatants. Mercutio dies, and Tybalt, who had left the scene, returning, Romeo's just wrath at his friend's death puts aside all considerations of prudence, and rushing fiercely upon Tybalt he lays him dead at his feet. The Prince now appears, inquires into the origin of the fray, and concludes by passing sentence on Romeo of banishment INTRODUCTION. xv to Mantua, sparing his life only because the quarrel had in a measure been forced upon him. Meanwhile Juliet is counting the moments for her next meeting with Romeo, when the Nurse enters with the news of Tybalt's death. So incoherent, however, are her words that Juliet at first believes it to be Eomeo who has fallen. When at length she perceives the truth she bursts forth into execrations upon Romeo whose deeds have proved so far at variance with his looks. The Nurse in parasitic agreement echoes her words. This quickly produces a revulsion in Juliet's mind. She becomes conscious that Romeo has after all acted only in self-defence, reproaches herself bitterly for her doubts, and, the course of her griefs thus turned, is sensible of all that his banishment means to her — the ruin of her life. The Nurse comforts her with the promise of quickly bringing Romeo, and she nerves herself for what she knows must be a long farewell. Romeo is even more broken with grief at the sentence that has fallen upon him. The sudden strength of purpose which his love had inspired now deserts him. Seeking the Friar's cell, he abandons himself to a paroxysm of despair, threatens to take his own life, and rejects all consolation that the Friar would administer. While thus prostrated, he is aroused by the coming of the Nurse to bid him visit his bride. This summons gives the Friar the opportunity of further urging reason. With stern directness he chides the cowardly refuge to which Romeo would fly, adding to the crime of slaying Tybalt the further crime of self-slaughter, and in that the probable death of her whom he is bound to cherish, not destroy ; points out that his fury is rather that of a beast than of a man, his utter self-abandonment the b xvi ROMEO AND JULIET. weakness of a woman, his meditated desertion a perjury of the soul ; then taking a gentler tone he shows how fortunate Romeo should think himself in that his sen- tence is exile, not death, how that Juliet is still alive and his own, how that life at Mantua may be borne with courage and patience till happier hours shall enable him to return and claim his bride, and how in the meantime tidings shall be sent to him of everything happening at Verona that may smooth the path to such good fortune. The impressionable Romeo, to whom life has hitherto been all sunshine, real grief a thing unknown, and therefore terrible to encounter, is soothed like a frightened child, and now thinks only of the near approach of joy in once more holding Juliet in his arms. The meeting alternates between rapture and despair ; between happy auguries of joyous re-union and all too prescient forebodings of death's divorcing hand, and ends in " those caresses, when a hundred times In that last kiss, which never was the last, Farewell, like endless welcome, lived and died." Romeo now enters upon his banishment, and if the lot is one hard to endure, his trial is as nothing to that which awaits Juliet. For some time past a kinsman of the Prince, Paris by name, has been a suitor for her hand, and his suit is one welcomed by her parents, though she herself has scarcely contemplated as serious the hints that have been given her. Now "to put her from her heaviness," which at first they suppose to be on account of Tybalt's death, they determine to force the marriage upon her. Juliet receives their decision with terror. INTRODUCTION. xvii To her mother she flatly refuses to accept Paris. With her father, who in furious anger insists on compliance, she pleads to be heard in objection to such an union. The onJy. answer is more anger, fresh vituperation. Alone with the Nurse, she seeks comfort from one who has so often been the sharer of her hopes and her secrets, i^nd has helped her in her marriage with Romeo. For all consolation, she gets from the treacherous old woman the advice to accept Paris : " 0, he 's a lovely gentleman ! Romeo's a dishclout to him," says this time-serving harridan, who, finding how the \/ wind blows, is now in terror at her own share in what she looks upoji as an escapade to be blotted out as best may be. Aghast at such treachery, which at first she cannot believe to be real, Juliet for ever casts her olf : " Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain. I '11 to the friar, to know his remedy : If all else fail, myself have power to die. " In the scene which follows, all the purity of a pure I heart, all the heroism of ancient heritage and individual nobility, shine forth in steady light. Separation from Romeo, bitter as the experience comes to her new-born bliss, is bearable, and she bears it. But to shame, to a violation of her soul, anything is preferable, death but a paltry shock. She will dare all, and she accepts with alacrity the one resource the Friar can oflfer, a resource jin its uncertainty and its gruesome concomitants many times more terrible than death. For the Friar's proposal is that the night before the threatened marriage day she xviii ROMEO AND JULIET. shall drink a potion which for the space of forty-two hours will throw her into a death-like trance, during which she is to be interred in the family vault, the Friar being ready with Romeo, to whom instructions are to be sent, to set her free from the tomb as soon as the effects of the potion wear off, when the pair are to make their escape to Mantua. Possessed of the phial Juliet returns home and pretends compliance with her parents' wishes. The preparations for the wedding on the day next but one are hurried forward, and on its eve Juliet retires to her chamber knowing that no respite is now possible, that the Friar's remedy is the only loophole of hope. As she prepares to follow his directions she is tortured by horrible forebodings, with doubts whether the mixture will have its promised effects, whether it may not be a poison given her by the Friar in order to shield himself from the dishonour that would fall upon him if performing a second marriage while her husband is still alive. Her over-wrought fancies then picture to her the terrors of awaking from her trance before Romeo comes to set her free, the stifling vault, the neighbourhood of her newly-buried cousin, the apparition of the spirits of the dead, — terrors sufficient she feels to drive her into madness and self-destruction. " Suddenly in her disordered vision the figure of the murdered Tybalt rises, and is manifestly in pursuit of some one. Of whom 1 Not of Juliet, but of her lover who has slain him. A moment before Juliet had shrunk with horror from the thought of confronting Tybalt in the vault of the Capulets. But now Romeo is in danger. All fear deserts her. To stand by Romeo's side is her one necessity. With a confused sense that this draught INTRODUCTION. xix will somehow place her close to the murderous Tybalt, and close to Eomeo whom she would save, calling aloud to Tybalt to delay one moment — ' Stay, Tybalt, stay ! ' —she drains the phial, not 'in a fit of fright,'* but with the Avords, ' Komeo ! I come ; this do I drink to thee.'" f The day breaks, Juliet is found to all appearance dead, and in accordance with the necessities of the climate her funeral follows without delay. The Friar has meanwhile sent news to Romeo of the threatened marriage, and instructions as to the measures to be taken. Unfortu- nately his messenger, another Friar, on repairing to the house of his order in Mantua and seeking for one of his brethren to accompany him to Romeo's abode, is pre- vented from going forth to the city in consequence of a death from the plague having occurred within the convent walls and all egress being forbidden by law. Before he can find means to deliver his letter, Romeo's servant, who had been sent back to Verona, returns to his master with tidings of Juliet's death and burial. The moment before his arrival Romeo had been indulg- ing in one of his golden-hued visions, auguring from a dream just dreamt " some joyful news at hand," dreaming for the last time in his life. But if till now he still retains something of his wistful way of looking at life, some of that self-consciousness shown in his morbid outbursts about Rosaline, some of that indulgence in the luxury of woe which even after his union with Juliet he cannot forgo, there is from this moment no longer any blindness as to reality, no shrinking from the * As Coleridge explains. tDowden, Shakspere, His Mind and Art, pp. 115, 6. XX ROMEO AND JULIET. blow that has fallen, nothing indeterminate as to his future. Death has taken his beloved one. There remains therefore only to join her in her grave. All is to him summed up in this, and his prompt resolve is as promptly carried into action. Buying of an apothecary in Mantua a poison which is to have instantaneous effect, he sets out for Verona, and arriving at night proceeds to Juliet's grave. Thither at the same hour comes Paris to strew with flowers the last resting-place of her whom he had hoped to make his wife. As Romeo is opening the vault, Paris discovers himself and seeks to arrest the " villanous shame to the dead bodies " which he imagines Romeo in his vengeance about to perpetrate. Romeo would appease his wrath with gentle words ; he shrinks from laying another sin upon his already burdened soul ; he prays Paris not to tempt to fury a desperate man who comes armed against him- self alone. But his words are useless. A hand to hand combat ensues and Paris is slain. Laying Paris in the monument, and taking a final farewell of Juliet, Romeo swallows off the poison and falls dead. As he does so, the Friar with implements to open the vault comes to the churchyard and entering the tomb is in time to see Juliet awaken from her trance. On his approach he had discovered Romeo's dead body, and now in answer to her inquiries has to tell her what has happened. His Avords are fatal, for Juliet, refusing all comfort, audi taking a last kiss from Romeo's lips, seizes a dagger he , is wearing and plunges it into her breast. At this juncture the city watch, brought thither by Pai'is's page, : who, from a distance, had witnessed the combat between I his master and Romeo, come upon the scene and arrest INTRODUCTION. xxi the Friar and Romeo's servant. The news of strange events at Juliet's tomb has moreover spread to the city, and presently the Prince, followed by the Capulets, Montague, and others, hurry to the spot. The Friar and Romeo's servant relate at full the story of the marriage and the subsequent events, and the play ends with the reconciliation of Montague and Capuleb over the grave of their lost ones. We have now followed the "pair of star-cross'd lovers " in " the fearful passage of their death-mark'd love." I The heritage of hate has determined in reconciliation. But at what a cost ! The sole hopes of two houses lie side by side in their self-made graves, the noble Paris perishes while strewing with flowers his love's "bridal bed " in death, the witty, gallant, irrepressible, Mercutio owes his fatal wound to the intervention of his friend, "grief of" her "son's exile hath stopped" the mother's " breath " ! Passion has had its day, the passion of an emotional but finely-strung soul in Romeo, whom con- tact with a higlier nature takes out of himself, rouses from an apathy threatening to paralyse his life, ennobles into earnest purpose, strengthens for self-abandonment, though the piteous self-abandonment which sees in a ruined love the ruin of life itself: the passion of a far grander soul in Juliet who, an untaught girl, owing little to a mother's love, still less to the wise counsels of a careful father, is yet garrisoned about by the intuitions of purity, unswerving devotion, singleness of mind and directness of aim, fortitude to suffer all but the polluting touch of sin : the passion of less noble souls to Avhich worldly honoui', the dictates of family pride, the conven- tional obligations to maintain a tradition of uncompro- xxii ROMEO AND JULIET. raising hostility, merely because it is a tradition, render peace and good-will, the study of the public well-being, •^ the comity of private life, things altogether outside their ken. To avoid interruption of the narrative, little has been said of certain characters who play a part, subordinate indeed, but still of much importance. These are espe- cially the Friar, Mercutio, and the Nurse. When first we meet the Friar, he is out in the early morning cull- ing simples for use in medicine, a science he has deeply and successfully studied. He has been Romeo's spiritual adviser from early youth, his confidant in regard to Rosaline, and his aid is now sought to solve the difficulty of marriage with Juliet. A good old man who in his youth has known stormy passions and the stress of life, he has sought in religion and retirement the comfort he could not elsewhere find ; his great delight is to alleviate suffering of whatever kind, and above all to promote peace among his fellow-creatures. In the matter, how- ever, before us his pursuit ofthis goodlv task masters his sounder judgment, and with too ready compliance he assents to Romeo's 'request. He in fact does evil that good may c^me — and with the usual result of such temporizing. His piety, benevolence, and sympathy are undoubted, but whereas in his solitary musings and his priestly intercourse with human nature he thinks to have garnered up the teachings of philosophy, he has in reality missed true wisdom of life. Face to face with Romeo's distress at the sentence of exile, he can indeed reprove his despair with wholesome counsel, and by reasonable argument bring him into a sounder frame of mind. But when he lias himself to act, his stored up INTRODUCTION. xxiii wisdom only leads_him_wrong. He _erES~m=-being_a»„ party to the marriage, and his ingenuity and resource suggesting an escape from the inconvenient consequences of this step, he thinks to Temedy his first error by a stratagem in which the child-hke JuHet is to be involved. No doubt the courage to confess to the parents how matters stand would bring down upon himself much unpleasantness. It would bring down something worse upon Romeo and Juliet, and this consideration we may well believe weighs more heavily upon him than any personal penalties. Still, his duty is or should be clear before him. Even at the last when the tragic ending has come, and he is forced to unburden himself of his secret, though he palliates nothing, his confession of error is only conditional ; " if aught in this," he says, " Miscarried by my fault, let my old life Be sacrificed some hour before his time Unto the rigour of severest law." " If aught ! " yet without his too facile compliance there would be no tragedy to bewail ! Hudson has " always feir"a special comfort in the part of Friar Laurence. HoAv finely his tranquillity contrasts with the surround- ing agitation ! And how natural it seems that from that very agitation he should draw lessons of tran- quillity ! " Tranquillity, yes ; but what if it be a tran- quillity that diff&rs not much from an easy-going evasion of unpleasant realities," "a" tfiTnguiliity which-isLto be maintained at the cost uf three Jives ? According to Gefvinus, the Friar *^ represents, as it were, the part of the chorus in this tragedy, and expresses the leading idea of the piece in all its fulness, namely, that excess in xxiv ROMEO AND JULIET. any enjoyment, however pure in itself, transforms its sweel into bitterness ; that devotion to any single feeling, however noble, bespeaks its ascendancy; that this ascendancy moves the man aiTd wnman out ofTheir natural spheres ; that love can only 1)8 an accompani- ment to life, and that it cannot completely fill out the life and business of the man especially ; that in the full power of its first feeling it is a paroxysm of happiness, the very nature of which forbids its continuance in equal strength ; that, as the poet says in an image, it is a flower that " ' ^ ' Being smelt, with that part cheers each part ; , Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart.' ' But surely Shakespeare means nothing of the kind. Surely he does not seek to "moralize this spectacle" through the agency of one who despite his long years, his acquisition of knowledge, his experience of life, his trusted philosophy, errs so grievously, errs in broad daylight, and without the excuse of passion to disturb his calm and tranquil mind. Sliakespeare, it seems to me, dramatizes Brooke's narrative in his own incom- parable fashion, and he does nothing more. Mercutio is the very antithesis to Borneo. " The brooding nature of Romeo," says Dowden,* " which cherishes emotion, and lives in it, is made salient by contrast with Mercutio, who is all wit, and intellect, and vivacity, an uncontrollable play of gleaming and glanc- ing life. Upon the morning after the betrothal with Juliet, a meeting happens between Romeo and Mercutio. Previously, while a lover of Rosaline, Romeo had culti- * Shakspere, His Mind and Art, pp. 116, 7. INTRODUCTION. xxv vated a lover-like melancholy. But now, partly because his blood runs gladly, partly because the union of soul with Juliet has made the whole world more real and substantial, and things have grown too solid and lasting to be disturl)ed by a laugh, Romeo can contend in jest with Mercutio himself, and stretch his wit of cheveril 'from an inch narrow to an ell broad.' Mercutio and the Nurse are Shakespeare's creations in this play. For the character of the former he had but a slight hint in the poem of Arthur Brooke. There we read of Mer- cutio as a courtier who was bold among the bashful maidens as a lion among lambs, and we are told that he had an 'ice-cold hand.' Putting together these two suggestions, discovering a significance in them, and animating them with the breath of his own life, Shake- speare created the brilliant figure which lights up the first half of Romeo and Juliet, and disappears when the colours become all too grave and sombre. Romeo has accepted the great bond of love. Mercutio, with his ice-cold hand, the lion among maidens, chooses above all things a defiant liberty of speech,^jjly at war with_ the proprieties, an airy freedom of fancy, a careless and masterful'bourage in dealing with life, as though it were a matter of slight importance. He will not attach him- self to either of the houses. He is invited b}' Capulet to the banquet ; but he goes to the banquet in company with Romeo and the Montagues. He can do generous and disinterested things ; but he will not submit to the trammels of being recognized as generous. He dies maintaining his freedom, and defying death with a jesl. To be made worm's meat of so stupidly, by a villain that fights by the book of arithmetic, and through xxvi ROMEO AND JULIET. Romeo's awkwardness, is enough to make a man impatient. * A plague o' both your houses ! ' [^he /death of Merciitio is like th'e' removal of a sliittmg""'"* breadth'oT sunlight which sparkles o^Jhe'sea ; nowjhe clouds close in upon'mie°^nothei\and the stress of the y -gale begiiisr^/To'tlTe Gi-erman critic Mercutio is "a man without culture ; coarse, rude, and ugly ; a scornful ridiculer of all sensibility and love, of all dreams and presentiments ; a man who loves to hear himself talk, and in the opinion of his noble friend ' will speak more in a minute than he will stand to in a month.' " Does, then, Shakespeare put into the mouih of " a man with- - out culture " the splendid coruscations of fancy that flash forth in Mercutio's description of Queen Mab and her chariot ] Is there no poetry in the soul of one who could conceive and embody images of so tine a fibre 1 For his ridicule, is it the ridicule of love and sensibility, — or not rather ridicule of their sickly adumbiations which his keen vision pierces in the morbid parade of despair affected by Eomeo at Rosaline's repulse ? For such affectations Mercutio's full-blooded vitality lias no sympathy, for the annihilation of such unrealities no engine seems to him better devised than unsparing raillery. He Js ^ tinies__coarse no doubt, but mainly with the c";?rgt^n'^s.s of unj;anieable_animal spirits a-tilt^ against maudlin sentimentality, opposing one kind of extravagance by another, making, as it were, its protest with a defiani^_a&(m(/(>«. irhe ugly ? well, he jocularly confesses to the enormity of " beetle-brows " ; but this, the sole hint that Shakespeare furnishes us Avitli, does not seem to argue any terrible indictment. Does he love to hear himself talk 1 The sin may be admitted, INTRODUCTION. xxvii but Eomeo's depreciation is merely an impromptu of the moment meant to soothe the plumes of the Nurse ruffled by boisterous disregard of would-be dignity ; and there is nothing in the abundant flow of 3Iercutio's sallies that is either rude, arrogant, malicious, or ego- tistical. He lunges swiftly with the rapier of his wit, but is no less ready to take thrust for thrust ''and so part fair." In Brooke's poem Juliet is called the "nurse-child," and it is to the fact that the old woman has been her foster-mother that she owes what influence she possesses. From their mutual relations it results that Juliet fails to see that the fondness of which she is the object is more the fondness of one conscious that her hold over her " lady -bird " lies in compliance with each whim and petty fancy, than any genuine love and care. The old woman is no doubt proud of her charge, and in the garrulity of old age, largely spiced with individual coarseness, she dilates upon her services with a com- placent feeling of satisfaction that whatever is good in the girl had its origin in her nurture. She rejoices that Juliet should be sought by Paris, not because she knows anything of that suitor's fitness, but because it is a fine thing for a maiden to have a lover. She is equally rejoiced that Juliet should have fallen in love with Romeo. She will help in the secret marriage, because it is easier to do so than to refuse. When Juliet pours forth her maledictions upon Romeo for the slaughter of Tybalt, their echo is ready from the Nurse's tongue. When Juliet's mood changes, the Nurse veers round Avith an off"er to fetch Romeo. When the marriage with Paris is decided upon by the parents it is plain to xxviii ROMEO AND JULIET. her that, poAver and authority being on their side, all thought of resistance is out of the question. The sin of taking a second husband while the first is still alive does not seem so much as to pass before her mind. Romeo and Juliet cannot come together, therefore it is well that Paris and Juliet should : " I think you ai'e happy in this second match, For it excells your first : or if it did not, Your first is dead, or 'twere as good he were As liviaig here and you no use to him." Believing from her behaviour on returning from the Friar's cell that Juliet has seen her mistake and now wisely acqixiesces in the inevitable, the Nurse makes no more ado about the matter, but is up early in the morning to deck the bride, when to her horror she finds, as she supposes, that death has forbidden the banns of an union that to lier had seemed so satisfactory a solution of all difficulties, and her optimism receives a shock that even she cannot misunderstand. Hitherto the world has to her been the best of all possible worlds. A trusted member of a high-born household, she fancies her behaviour to be modelled on their example, ])lumes herself on decorum, in her walks abroad must be attended JjyJb-er own -servant, like her betters must be careful of the proprieties of the fan, with due self- respect must bridle at the familiarities of that " saucy merchant," Mercutio, " so full of his ropery," and let it be known to all men that she is "none of his flirt-gills." She could stay all/ night to listen to the good counsel of the Friar, and rapturously exclaims, "0, what learning is ! " for the good counsel and learning chime in with INTRODUCTION. xxix the demands of the moment ; to her the fact that Romeo will not dare to claim Juliet is an all-sufficient excuse for casting him off ; £ner supreme law is expediencj^T she recognizes no dictates higher than those of personal colilenfment ; of loyalty, love, purity, self-sacrifice, she is utterly ignorant, while believing all the time that her rule of life is squared with every requirement of rectitude. The Montagues and the Capulets, though important factors in the drama, do not fill up any great space in the action. Both seem equally animated by the fierce rivalry of the famil}' feud, but the former are Jn^_otlier respects of a gentler type than the latter. They dearly love their son, whose exile kills the mother, and whose death well nigh breaks the father's heart. The Capulets to the rancour of public hatred add a harsh repression of family affection. The father, hasty, tyrannical, ^nd vindictive when thwarted, seemj_to_hine l)ut little love for his daughter, and is utterly without sympathy with, or imderstanding of, her nature. His will must be~law though it crush the heart of his child, and to gratify his pride he is ready to sell that child to a kinsman of the Prince. Yet he is not without his good points, but is jovial and hospitable, and shows a chivalry of feeling when the son of his hereditary foe comes uninvited to his banquet. The mother, if she has something more of love for her daughter, has no tenderness, and is eqrrally impatient" of opposition. Many years her liusband's junior, she has evTdently foTmd but little of wecIHed happiness, and her proud h"eaTr"Mks~^r"ncrreposal of trustfulness or interconrse' of" feeling. Her"cold tem- perament is at the same time mixed with a passionate XXX ROMEO AND JULIET„ resentment that is ready to poison Eomeo for the death of her nephew, and she clearly would hesitate at nothing to gratify revenge or sweep an obstacle from her path. From neither has Juliet received much guidance, though plenty of discipline, to neither can she look for help in a difficulty of the heart or pardon of a transgression into which that heart has led her. Duration of ^ive da VS. The banquet of the Ca])ulets is on the the action. j i i Sunday ; on Monday afternoon the marriage takes place ; on Tuesday at dawn we witness the parting of the lovers ; the wedding with Paris, fixed for Thursday, is hurried forward by a day ; on the night of Thursday Juliet awakens at the tomb and the catastrophe comes. EOMEO AND JULIET. DRAMATIS PERSONS. EsCALUS, prince of Verona. Paris, a young nobleman, kinsman to the prince. Montague, D' p rheads of two houses at variance with each other. An old man, cousin to Capulet. Romeo, son to Montague. Mercutio, kinsman to the prince, and friend to Romeo. Benvolio, nephew to Montague, and friend to Romeo. Tybalt, nephew to Lady Capulet. Friar Laurence,' ^Franciscans. •}= Friar John, Balthasar, servant to Romeo. Sampson, ") ^ GREG0RY,r^^^^^*"*°^^P"^^*- Peter, servant to Juliet's nurse. Abraham, servant to Montague. An Apothecary. Three Musicians. Page to Paris ; another Page ; an Officer. Lady Montague, wife to Montague. Lady Capulet, wife to Capulet. Juliet, daughter to Capulet. Nurse to Juliet. Citizens of Verona ; several Men and Women, relations to both houses ; Maskers, Guards, Watchmen, and Attendants. Chorus. Scene : Verona ; Mantua. ^^vi- f^l'i- V^'^\. ROMEO AND JULIET. PROLOGUE. Two households, both alike in dignity, In fair Verona, where we lay our scene. From ancient grvidge break to new mutiny, Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. jVomforth the fatal loins of these two foes A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life ; Whose misadventured piteous overthrows Do with their death bury their parents' strife. The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love, And the continuance of their parents' rage, 10 Which, but their children's end, nought could remove, Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage ; The which if you with patient ears attend, ^VTiat here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend. ACT I. Scene I. Verona. A public place. Enter Sampson a7id Gregory, of the hoiise of Capulet, armed xoith sioords and bucklers. Sam. Gregory, o' my word, we '11 not carry coals. Gre. No, for then we should be colliers. Sam. I mean, an we be in choler, we '11 draw. C 3 4 ROMEO AND JULIET. [act i. (?re. Ay, while you live, draw your neck out o' the collar. Sam. I strike quickly, being moved. ' o^-_i, / Ore. But thou art not quickly moved to strike. -^ w-KUxf' Sami fA dog of the house of Montague moves me. Gre. To move is to stir ; and to be valiant is to stand : therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn'st away. Sam. A dog of that house shall move me to stand : I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's. 11 G7-e. That shows thee a weak slave ; for the weakest goes to the wall. Sam. True ; and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall : therefore I will push Montague's men from the wall, and thrust his maids to the wall. Gre. The quarrel is between our masters and us their men. ' "^ Sam. 'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant : when I have fought with the men, I will be cruel with the maids, and cut off their heads. 21 Gre. Draw thy tool ; here comes two of the house of the Montagues. ^^ ,-y/^.-.-^^ W/**' Sam. My naked weapon is out : quarrel, I will back thee. Gre. How ! turn thy back and run ? Sam. Fear me not. ' Gre. No, marry ; I fear thee ! Sam. Let us take the law of our sides ; let them begin. Gre. I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as » they list. 30 Sam. Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them ; which is a disgrace to them, if they bear it. Enter Abraham and Balthasar. Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir 1 Sam. I do bite my thumb, sir. Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir ? Sam. [Aside to Gre.] Is the law of our side, if I say ay ? i SCENE I.] ROMEO AND JULIET. 5 Gre. No. Sam. No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir, but I bite my thumb, sir. Gre. Do you quarrel, sir ? 40 Abr, Quarrel, sir ! no, sir. Sam. If you do, sir, I am for you : I serve as good a man as you. Abr. No better. Sam. Well, sir. „ Gre. Say ' better :' here comes one of my master's kinsmen. Sam. Yes, better, sir. Abr. You lie. Sam. Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy swash- ing blow. {They fight. 50 Enter Benvolio. Ben. Part, fools ! ; you know not [Beats down their swords. Enter Tybalt. Put up your swords ; you know not what you do. Tyb. What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds ? Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death. Ben. I do but keep the peace : put up thy sword, Or manage it to part these men with me. Tyb. What, drawn, and talk of peace ! I hate the word, As T hate hell, all Montagues, and thee : Have at thee, coward I [They fight. Enter several of both houses, xoho join the fray ; then enter Citizens, loith clubs. First Git. Clubs, bills, and partisans ! strike ! beat them down! -i--"-- 60 Down with the Capulets ! down with the Montagues ! 6 ROMEO AND JULIET. [act i. Enter Capulet in his gown, and Lady Capulet. Cap. What noise is this ? Give me my long sword, ho ! La. Cap. A crutch, a crutch ! why call you for a sword ? S*^^ Cap. My sword, I say ! Old Montague is come, 'ih i^ And flourishes his blade in spite of me. .^rj-^^-^i U'-\^t<,\J^ ■ ^^ Enter Montague and Lady Montague. yW' Mon. Thou villain Capulet, — Hold me not, let me go. La. Mon. Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek a foe. 1 Enter Prince, with Attendants. j, i , Prin. Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, (^ " Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel,— f ^ ^-y Will they not hear 1 What, ho ! you men, you beasts, 70 r (j^ That quench the fire of your pernicious mge c^J^^tu"^ ,y^^ 'yy^ With purple fountains issuing from your veins. On pain of torture, from those bloody liands Throw your mistemper'd weapons to the ground. And hear the sentence of your moved prince. Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word, _By thee, old Capulet. and Montague, Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets. And made Verona's ancient citizens C^st by their gi-ave beseeming ornaments, 80 To wield old partisans, in hands as old, ,-jv^^^ Cankered with peace, to part your canker'd liate : ^^ ever you disturb our streets again. Your lives shall jmy the forfeit of thepeace^ "For this time, all the rest depart away : You, Capulet, shall go along with me : And, Montague, come you this afternoon. To know our further pleasure in this case. To old Free-town, our common judgement-place. Once more, on pain of death, all men depart. 90 \_Exetint all but Montague, Lady Montague, and BenvoUo. SCENE I.] ROMEO AND JULIET. 7 Hon. "VQio set this ancient quarrel new abroach ? Sppak^ nephew, werfi yon hy when it began ? Ben. Here were the servants of your adversary, And yours, close fighting ere I did approach : I drew to part them : in the instant came The fiery_Tybalt, with his^sword prepared, Which, as he breathed defiance to my ears. He swung about his head and cut the winds, Who nothing hurt withal hiss'd him in scorn ; While we were interchanging thrusts and blows, 100 Came more and more and fought on part and part. Till the prince came, who parted either part. La. Moil. O, where is Romeo ? saw you him to-day ? Right glad I am he was not at this f i;a^ ■ Ben. Madam, an hour beforetlie worshipp'd sun Peer'd forth the golden window of the east, A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad ; Where, underneath the grove of sycamore That westward I'ooteth from the city's side, So early walking did I see your son : 110 Towards him I made, but he was ware of me And stole into the covert of the wood : I, measuring his affections by my own, — i Which then most sought where most might not be found, j Pursued my humour not pursuing his, j And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me. J Mon. Many a morning hath he there been seen, With tears augmenting tlie fresh morning's dew, Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs ; BufalTsosoonas the all-cheering sun * 120 Should in the furthest east begin to draw «-s^' .j-yv*^*^ The shady curtains from Aurora's bed, ' Away from light steals home my heavy son, And private in his chamber pens himself, Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out ,- And makes himself an artificial night : f,^->XC ^ ^^^ *^'^^ l'\i fi. f.l&^M,'^^ 8 ROMEO AND JULIET. [act i. Black and portentous must this humour prove, ^^ =. Unless good counsel may the cause remove. Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause ? Moil. I neither know it nor can learn of him. 130 Ben. Have you importuned him by any means ? Mon. Both by myself and many other friends : But he, his own affections' counsellor. Is to himself— I will not say how true — But to himself so .secret and so close. So far from sounding and discovery, As is the bud bit with an envious wi)rm^ Ere he_can spread his sweet leaves to the air,^ Or dedicate his beauty to the sun. Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow^ 140 We would as willingly give cure_as kno^^. Enter Romeo. Ben. See, where he comes : so please you, step aside ; I '11 know his grievance, or be much denied. ''^ ■ Mon. I would thou wert so happy by thy stay, aa^m^ To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let 's away. ,,^J^ \Exeunt Montague and Lady. Ben. Good morrow, cousin. 1 Rom. '< Is the day so young ? • - Ben. But new struck nine. t Rom. Ay me ! sad hours seem long. " Was that my father that went hence so fast ? Ben. It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours 1 Rom. Not having that, which, having, makes them short. Ben. In love 1 151 Rom. Out — Ben. Of love? Rom. Out of her favour, where I am in love. Ben. Alas, that love, so gentle in his view. Should be so tyraimous and rough in proof ! Rom. Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still. ^—^ SCENE I.] ROMEO AND JULIET. Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will ! Where shall we dine ? O me ! What fray was here ? Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. / 160 Here 's much to do with hate, but more with love. hy, then, O brawling love ! O loving hate ! O any thing, of nothing first create 1 O heavy lightness ! serious vanity ! Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms ! i f'f Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire; sick health ! Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is ! '-''"' This love feel I, that feel no love in this. Dost thou not laugh ? Be7i. No, coz, I ratlier weep. ^<> Rom. Good heart, at what ? Ben. At thy good heart's oppression. Rom. Why, such is love's transgression. 171 Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast, Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest With more of thine : this love that thou hast .showri Doth add more grief to too much of mine own. ) Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighg ; \ Being purged, a fire spai'kling in lovers' eyes ; i Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears : 6j .What is it else ? a madn£ss_niQat_discreet, A choking gall and a preserving sweet. 180 Farewell, my coz. Ben. Soft ! I will go along ; An if you leave me so, you do me M^rong. Rom. Tut, I have lost myself ; I am not here ; This is not Romeo, he 's some other where. Ben. Tell me in sadness, who is that you love. Rom. What, shall I groan and tell thee ? Ben. Groan ! why, no; But sadly tell me who. Ro7n. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will : Ah, word ill urged to one that is so ill ! 10 ROMEO AND JULIET. [act i. In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman. 190 Ben. I aim'd so near, when I supposed you loved. Rom. A right good mark -man ! And she 's fair I love. Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. Rom. "Well, in that hit you miss : she'll not be hit With Cupid's arrow ; she hath Diau's wit ; And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd, tJri'^' From love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd. She will not stay the siege of loving terms. Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes, Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold : 200 ij;J..j,y^^ O, she is rich in beaut>', only poor, That when she dies with beauty dies her store. Ben. Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste ? Rom. She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste, For beauty starved with her severity Cuts beauty off from all posterity. She_is too fair, too wise, wisely too fair, • To merit bliss by making- me despair : SJieJiath forsworn to love, and in that vow Do I live dead that live to tell it now. 210 Ben. Be ruled by me, forget to think of her. Rom. O, teach me how I should forget to think. Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes ; Examine other beauties. Rom. 'Tis the way To call hers^ exquisite, in question more : These happy masks that kiss fair ladies' brows Being black put us in mind they hide the fair ; He that is strucken blind cannot forget ' » / ^ The precious treasure of his eyesight lost : ' ^ I Show me a mistress^^iat is passing fair, > .ffV-'^Hvr 220 0" The precious treasure of his eyesight lost : What dotli her beavity^ serve, but as a note ^-^ s}' Where I may read who pass'd that passing fair ? Farewell : thou canst not teach me to forget. Befb7 I '11 pay that doctrine, or else die in debt. \^EMunt. J SCENE IX.] ROMEO AND JULIET. 11 Scene II. A street. Enter Capulet, Paris, and Servant. Cap. But Montague is bgund as well as I, In penalty alike ; and 'tis not hard, I think, For men so old as we to keep the peace. Par. Of honouraljle reckoning are you both ; And pity 'tis you lived at odds so long. But now, my lord, what say you to my suit ? Cap. But saying o'er what I have said before : ■ ;^J^y child is yet a stranger in the world ; . /"^he hatli not seen the change of fourteen years ; jt;^ Let two moi-e summers wither in their pride, 10 Erejwe inavjthink her ripe to be a bride. Par. Younger than she are happy mothers made. Cap. And too soon marr'd are those so early made. The earth hath swallow'ffall my hopes but she. She is the hopeful lady of my earth : But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart, My will to her consent is but a part ; An she agree, within her scope of choice Lies my consent and fair according voice. This night I hold an j)ld"accustom'd ?east, " 20 Whereto I have invit'ed many a guest, Such as I love ; and you, among the store, One more, most welcome, makes my number more. At my poorjiouse look to behold this nighto..^"'''^'^ Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light : Such comfort as do lusty young men feel When well-apparell'd April on the heel Of limping winter treads, even such delight Among fresh female buds shall you this night Inherit at my house ; hear all, all see, 30 And like her most whose merit most shall be : Which, on more view of many, mine being one, May stand in number, though in reckoning none. 12 ROMEO AND JULIET. [act i. Come, go with me. [To Serv., giving a paper. "] Go, sirrah, trudge about Through fair Verona ; find those persons out , a'^s^)'^ Whose names are written there, and to them say, My house and welcome on their pleasure stay. 37 [Exeunt Cajmlet and Paris. Serv. Find them out whose names are written here ! It is \0^^ written, that the shoemaker„should meddle withhis }'arij, and the tailor with his last, the ^sher_witli_hispencnjfUKf th^ painter withj^iis nets ; but I am sent to find those persons whose names are here writ, and can never find what names the writing person hath here writ. I must to the learned.— In good time. Enter Benvolio and Eomeo. Ben. Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning, One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish ; Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning ; One desperate grief cures with another's languish : / Take thou some new infection to thy eye,\ \^ And the_rank poison of the old will die.^ J 60 Rom. Your plaintain-leaf is excellent for that. Ben. For what, I pray thee ? Rom. For your broken shin. Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou mad ? Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a madman is ; / Shut up in prison, kept without my food, Whipp'd and tormented and — God-den, good fellow. Serv. God gi' god-den. I pray, sir, can you read ? I Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery. ,^ »va/\n ""^ u^/^w't Serv. Perha]3s you have learned it without book : but, I 1^*^ pray, can you read any tlinig you see '/ ' 60 Rom. Ay, if I know the letters and the language. Serv. Ye say honestly : rest you merry ! Rom. Stay, fellow ; I can read. [Reads. ' Siguior Martino and his wife and daughters ; County SCENE II.] ROMEO AND JULIET. 13 Anselme and his beauteous sisters ; the lady widow of Vitruvio ; Signior Placentio and his lovely nieces ; Mer- cutio and his brother Valentine ; mine uncle Capulet, his wife, and daughters ; my fair niece Rosaline ; Livia ; Signior Yalentio and his cousin Tybalt ; Lucio and the lively Helena.' A fair assembly ; whither should they come ? 70 Serv. Up. Rom. Whither ? Serv. To supper ; to our house. Rom. Whose house ? Serv. My master's. Rmn. Indeed, I should have ask'd you that before. Serv. Now I '11 tell you without asking : my master is the great rich Capulet ; and if you be not of the house of Mon- tagues, I pray, come and crush a cup of wine. Rest you merry ! [Exit. 80 Beiu At this same ancient feast of Capulet's Sups the fair Rosaline whom thou so lovest, With all the admired beauties of Verona : Go thitheiv^_andjjwithunattainted eye, Compare her face with some that r"sliall show. And I will make thee think thy^ypi acmw. Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires ; And these, who often drown'd could never die, Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars ! 90 One fairer than my love ! the all-seeing sun u , ^ Ne'er saw her match since first the world begun. Ben. Tut, you saw her fair, none else being by. Herself poised with herself in either eye : But in that crystal scales let there be weigh'd Your lady's love against some other maid That I will show you shining at this feast. And she shall scant show well that now shows best. Rom. I '11 go along, no such sight to be shown, But to rejoice in splendour of mine own. [Exeunt. 100 14 ROMEO AND JULIET. [act i. Scene III. A room in Capulefs house. Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse. ■^ La. Cap. Nurse, where 's my daughter ? call her forth to me. Nurse. I bade her come. What, lamb ! what, lady -bird ! God forbid ! Where 's this girl ? What, Juliet ! Enter Juliet. Jul. How now ! Who calls ? Nurse. Your mother. Jul. Madam, I am here. What is your will ? , ^ La. Cap. This is the matter : — Nurse, give leave awhile, We must talk in secret : — nurse, come back again ; I have remember'd me, thou's hear our counsel. Thou know'st my daughter's of a pretty age. 'W^" N^irse. Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour. 10 La. Cap. She 's not fourteen. Nurse. I '11 lay f ouiteen of my teeth, — And yet, to my teen be it spoken, I have but four, — She is not fourteen. How long is it now To Lammas-tide ? La. Cap. A fortnight and odd days. Nurse. Even or odd, of all days in the year, V Come Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen. •p^ Susan and she — God rest all Christian souls ! — Were of an age : well, Susan is with God ; She was too good for me : but, as I said, ^,- On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen ; j 20 That shall she, marry ; I remember it well. i 'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years ; <— ^ And she was wean'd, — i never shall forget it, — Of all the~3aysof the year, upon that day :. For I had then laid wormwood to my dug. Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall ; SCENE in.] ROMEO AND JULIET. 15 My lord and you were then at Mantua : — Nay, T do hear a Ijrain :— but, as I said. When it did taste the wormwood^on_the nipple Of my dug and felt it bitter, pretty fool, 30 To see it tetchy and fall out with the dug ! |_Shake ' quoth the doveJ[iouse : 'twas no need, I trow, To bid me trudge : And since that time it is eleven years ; For then she could stand alone ; nay, l\v the rood. She could Jiave run and waddled all about ; For even the day before, she broke her brow. La. Cap. Enough of this ; I pray thee, hold thy peace. Nurse. Peace, I have done. God mark thee to his grace ! Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nursed : 40 An I might live to see thee married once, I have my wish. La. Cap. Marry, that ' marry ' is the very theme I came to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet, How stands your disposition to be married ? ) Jul. It is an honour that I dream not of. ^ Niorse. An honour ! were not I thine only nurse, I would say thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy teat. ^.^^^ La. Cap. Well, think of marriage now ; younger than you, Here in Verona, ladies of esteem, 50 Are made already mothers : by my count, I was your mother much upon these years *^That you are now a maid. Thus then in brief : The valiant Paris seeks you for his love. Nurse. A man, young lady ! lady, such a man As all the world — why, he 's a man of wax. La. Cap. Verona's summer hath not such a flower. ~ Nurse. Nay, he 's a flower ; in faith, a very flower. La. Cap. What say you ? can you love the gentleman ? This night you shall behold him at our feast ; Eead o'er the volume of young Paris' face And find delight writ there with beauty's pen ; 60 16 ROMEO AND JULIET. [act i. Examine every married lineament And see how one another lends content, '"- And what obscured in this fair volume lies Find written in the margent of his eyes. This precious book of love, this unbound lover, To beautify him, only lacks a cover ; u,^^ ^ ,1 The £j^ lives in_tlie sea, and 'tis much pride j^^ii^it!^ For fair witliout the fair within to hide : - TO That_book_in many's eyes doth share the glory. That in gold clasps locks in the golden story ; So shall you share all that he doth possess, ,;., / ^ l^ By having him, making yourself no less. Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love ? Jul. I '11 look to like, if looking liking move : But no more deep will I endart mine eye Than your consent gives strength to make it fly 78 Enter a Servant. Serv. Madam, the guests are come, sagger served up, you called, my young lady asked for, the nurse cursed in the pantry, and every thing in extremity. I must hence to wait ; ■ I beseech you, follow straight. La. Cap. We follow thee. [E.vit Servant.] Juliet, the county stays. Nurse. Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days. [Exeunt. Scene IV. A street. Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, loith five or six Maskers, Torch-bearers, and others. Rom. What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse ? Or shall we on without apology 1 Ben. The date is out of such prolixity : We '11 have no Cupid hoodwink'd with a .scarf, Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath, ,i SCENE IV.] ROMEO AND JULIET. jy Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper ; Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke After the prompter, for our entrance : But let them mpasnre us by what thev will ; We '11 nieasure them a measure, and be gone. 10 Rom. Give me a torch : I am not for this ambline : Being but heavy, I will bear the light. ... Jiier. JNay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance. Rom. Not I,Jjeli£xa-m£j_jx)u have dancing slmps With nimb!e"sQles : I have a soul of lead So stakes me to the ground I cannot move. • ' Mer. You are a lover ; borrow Cupid's wings, Anjijpar~wrth them~a5ove a commonljound?"" Bom. I am too sore eupierced with his shaft * *^^^' To soar with his light feathers, and so bound, ' 20 I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe : XJnd£rjovels_heavy_burden do I sink. J/e?-. And, to sink in it, should you burden love ; Too great oppression for a tender thing. Rom. Is love a tender thing ? it is too rough, ^'^ fy^^*-^^^^ ToQ-mdeTtoo boisterous, and it pricks like thorn..^ ■ . ^ ^fer. If love be rough with you, be rough with love ; [ti^"^ PrickJoye.for pricking, and you beat love down. Give me a case to put my visage in : A visor for a visor ! what care I 30 What curious eye doth quote deformities ? Here are the beetle brows shall blush for me. Ben. Come, knock and enter ; and no sooner in. But every man betake him to his legs. Rom. A torch for me : let wantons light of heart Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels, For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase ; I '11 be a candle-holder, and look on. The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done. Mer. Tut, dun 's the mouse, the constable's own word : 40 If thou art dun, we '11 draw thee from the mire B 18 ROMEO AND JULIET. [act i. ^ ) Of this sir-reverence love, wherein thou stiek'st Up to the ears. Come, we burn daylight, ho ! Rom. Nay, that 's not so. Mer. I mean, sir, in delay We waste our lights in vain, light lights by day. Take our good meaning, for our judgement sits Five times in that ere once in our five wits. Rom. And we mean well in going to this mask ; But 'tis not wit to go. Mer. Why, may one ask ? Ro7n. I dream'd a dream to-night. jj/g^. And so did I. "HD Rom. Well, what was yours ? jj^gf^ That dreamers often lie. Rom. In bed asleep, while they do dream things true. ^ Mer. 0, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you. She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes !.< ; lu In .shape no bigger than an agate-stone On the fore-finger of an alderman, Drawn with a team of little atomies Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep ; Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs. The cover of the wings of grasshoppers, 60 .j The traces of the smallest spider's web, The collars of the moonshine's watery beams. Her whip of cricket's bone, the lash of film, Her waggoner a small grey-coated gnat, Not half so big as a round little worm Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid ; Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub. Time out o' mind the fairies' coachmakers. And in this state she gallops niglit by night 70 Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love ; O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight. O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees, scEXE n^] RO^rEO AND JULIET. 19 O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream, Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues. Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are : , Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose, And then dreams he of smellinif out a suit : And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail Tickling a parson's nose as a' lies asleep, 80 Then dreams he of another benefice : Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck, And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades, 1~ Of healths five-fathom deep ; and then anon . -^^Aj^^^-X vX .Drums in his ear. at which he starts and wakes, And being thus frighted swears a prayer or two And sleeps again. This is that very Mab That plats the manes of horses in the night, And bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs, 90 Which once untangled much misfortune bodes : This is she — Rom. Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace ! Thou taik'st of nothing. Mer. True, I talk of dreams, Which are the children of an idle brain, '^ . {^ Begot of nothing but vain fantasy, p>j[^'vT j Which is as thin of substance as the air I And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes Even now the frozen bosom of the north, »jr »#.«»-^ v« ■*■■■* '•■^~ " And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence. Turning his face to the dew-dropping .south >^^7^^ 100 Ben. Tliis wind, you talk of, blows us from ourselves ; Supp^r-^done, and we shall come too late.^1 Rom. I fear, too early : for my mind misgives Some consequence yet hanging in the stars Shall bitterly begin his fearful date With this night's revels and expire the term Of a despised life closed in my breast 20 ROMEO AND JULIET. [act i. By some vile forfeit of untimely death. But He, that hath the steerage of my course, Direct my sail ! On, lusty gentlemen. 110 Ben. Strike, drum. [^Exeunt. ScENK Y. A hall in Capulefs house. Musicians waiting. Enter Servingmen, with napkins. First Seri\ Where 's Potpan, that he helps not to take away 1 He shift a trencher ? he .scrape a trencher ? Sec. Serv. When good manners shall lie all in one oi' two men's hands and they unwashed too, 'tis a foul thing. First Sei'v. Away with the joint-stools, remove the court- cupboard, look to the plate. Good thou, save me a piece of marchpane ; and, 'as thou lovest me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone and Nell. Antony, and Potpan ! Sec. Serv. Ay, boy, ready. First Serv. You are looked for and called for, asked for and sought for, in the great chamber. 11 Sec. Serv. We cannot be here and there too. Cheerly, boys ; be brisk awhile, and the longer liver take all. Enter Capulet, with Juliet and others of his house, meeting the Guests and Maskers. Cap. Welcome, gentlemen ! ladies that have their toes Unplagued with corns will have a bout with you. -^'^ Ah ha, my mistresses ! which of you all Will now deny to dance ? she that makes dainty, She, I '11 swear, hath corns ; am I come near ye now ? Y^ Welcome, gentlemen ! I have seen the day That I have worn a visor and could tell 20 A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear. Such as would please : 'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis gone : You are welcome, gentlemen ! Come, musicians, play. A hall, a hall ! give room ! and foot it, girls. i [Micsic plai/s, and they dance. SCENE v.] ROMEO AND JULIET. 21 More light, you knaves ; and turn the tables up, And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot. * Ah, sirrah, this unlook'd-for sjwrt comes well. Nay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet ; For you and I are past our dancing days : How long is 't now since last yourself and I 30 Were in a mask ? Sec. Cap. By 'r lady, thirty years. Cap. What, man ! 'tis not so much, 'tis not so much : 'Tis since the nuptial of Lucentio, Come pentecost as quickly as it will, '■'<^' ^'^^ Some five and twenty years ; and then we mask'd. Sec. Cap. 'Tis more, 'tis more : his son is elder, sir ; His son is thirty. Cap. Will you tell me that ? ■^.vii/^a./' His son was but a ward two years ago. Rom. [To a Servingmani What lady is that, which doth enrich the hand Of yonder knight 1 40 Serv. I know not, sir. Rom. O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright ! It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear ; Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear ! So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows, rv ^^jXtK As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows. The measure done, I '11 watch her place of stand, And, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand. Did my heart love tilljv^w^nrswar it-,, .sig^'^"' V^ 50 For I ne'er saw true"beaut\' till tliis niolit — ^^ Tyb. This, by his voice, should be a Montague. Fetch me my rapier, boy. What dares the slave Come hither, cover'd with an antic face, To fleer and scorn at our solemnity ? I.,. ' Now, by the stock and honour of ray kin, To strike him dead I hold it not a sin. 22 ROMEO AND JULIET. [act i. Cap. Why, how now, kinsman ! wherefore storm you so ? Tyh. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe, A villain that is hither come in spite, 60 To scorn at our solemnity this night. Cap. Young Romeo is it ? Tyh. 'Tis he, that villain Romeo. Cap. Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone ; He bears him like a portly gentleman ; And, to say truth, Verona brags of him To be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth : I would not for the wealth of all the town Here in my house do him disparagement : Therefore be patient, take no note of him : It is my will, the which if thou respect, 70 Show a fair presence and put off these frowns. An ill-beseeming semblance for a feast. Tyb. It fits, when such a villain is a guest : I '11 not endure him. Cap. He shall be endured • _Wlia.t, g-ondman boy ! I sav, lift sli'vH • p'l tn ; Ami the master here, or you ? go to._ You '11 not endure him ! God shall mend my soul ! You '11 make a mutiny among my guests ! You will set cock-a-hoop ! you '11 be the man ! Tyh. Why, uncle, 'tis a shame. Cap. Go to, go to ; 80 You are a saucy boy : is 't so, indeed ? This trick may chance to scathe you, — I know what : You must contrary me ! marry, 'tis time. Well said, my hearts ! You are a princox ; go : Be quiet, or — More light, more light ! For shame ! I '11 make you quiet. What, cheerly, my hearts ! Tyh. Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting Makes my flesh tremble in tlieir different greeting. yVW*' ,'»>■ ^ — ^ , I will withdraw ; but this intrusion sliall Now seeming sweet convert to bitter gall, m [^Exit. 90 SCENE v.] ROMEO AND JULIET. 23 Ro7n. {To Juliet] If I profane with my unworthiest hand This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this : My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss. Jul. Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, iAi^v^i .<^^" That fair for which love groan'd for and would die, With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair. Now Romeo is beloveclTa^ loves again^ trni ** Alike bewitched"By~the charm oT'looks, ,;_^ \^i^^ But to his foe supposedTie must complain, And she steal love's sweet bait from tearful hooks : ACT 11. PROLOGUE.] ROMEO AND JULIET. 25 Being held a foe, he may not have access ^ To_breatlie such vows as lovers use to swearj 10 And she as much in love, her means much less ' To meet her new-beloved any where : li But passion lends them power,T)time means, to meet. Tempering extremities with extreme sweet. [^Exit. Scene I. A lane hy the wall of Capulefs orchard. Enter Eomeo. Rom. Can I go forward when my heart is here .' Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out. [iTe climbs the wall, and leaps down within it. Enter Benvolio ami Mercutio. Ben. Romeo ! my cousin Romeo ! Mer. He is wise ; And, on my life, hath stol'n him home to bed. ,. ^^ Ben. He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard wall : Call, good Mercutio. Mer. Nay, I '11 conjure too. Romeo ! humours ! madman ! passion ! lover ! Api^ear thou in the likeness of a sigh : U luu.^ Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied ; Cry but ' Ay me ! ' pronounce but ' love ' and ' dove ; 10 t^*"^ Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word, Ai^^ One nick-name for her purblind son and heir. Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim, -^^^h^ When King Cophetua loved the beggar-maid ! "i^, He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not ; The ape is dead, and I must conjure him. Im^ ■^4^.1^ I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes. By her high forehead and her scarlet lip. That in thy likene.ss thou appear to us ! Ben. An if he hear thee, thou wilt anger hiiu. 20 26 ROMEO AND JULIET. [act n. 3 Mer. This cannot anger him : my invocation Is fair and honest, and in his mistress' name I conjure only but to raise up him. Ben. Come, he hath hid himself among these trees. To be consorted with the humorous night : Blind is his love and best befits the dark. Mer. If love be blind, love cannotJiitJ-.h(^ marlj^ / Romeo, good jiight : I '11 to my truckle-bed ; : This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep : ^ I^me, shall we go ? Ben. Go, then ; for 'tis in vain 30 To seek him here that means not to be found. \Exeunt. Scene II. Capulets orchard. Enter Romeo. Rom. He jests at scars that never felt a wound. \Jnliet appears above at a windoto. But, sj)ft ! what light through yonder window breaks ? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. / Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, /u<) - - - L "Whois already sick and pale with grief, ) That thou her maid art far more fair than she : j Be not her maid, since she is envious ; Her vestal livej'y is but sick and green And none but fools do wear it ; cast it off. It is my lady, O, it is my love ! 10 O, that she knew she were ! She speaks, yet she says nothing : what of that '/ Her eye discourses ; I will answer it. I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks : Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, Having some business, do entreat her eyes To twinkle in their spheres till they return. What if her eyes were there, they in her head ? SCEXE II.] ROMEO AND JULIET. 27 The brightness of her cheek would sliame those stars, As daylight doth a lamp ; her eyes in heaven 20 "Would through the airv region sti-eam so brifjht That birds would sing and think it were not night. See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand ! O, that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek ! Jid. Ay me ! Rom. She speaks : O, sj^eak again, bright angel ! for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head, As is a winffed messenger of heaven Unto the white-uptui'iied wondering eyes >.. .^^ Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him 30 When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds And sails upon the bosom of the air. ^ Jul. O Romeo, Romeo ! wherefc/re art £hou Romeo ? ' Deny thy father and refuse thy name ; < vA^vr I Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love. I And I '11 no longer be a Capulet. K0'm7\_Aside\ Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this ? Jul. 'Tis but thy name that is mv enemy ; \(^ Xhou art thyself, though not a Montague. What 's Montague ? it is nor hand, nor foot, 40 Xor arm, nor face, nor any other part Belonging to a man. O, be some other name ! What 's in a name ? that which we call a rose By am" other name would smell as sweet ; So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd, .Retain that dear perfection which he owes Wij;,hniit. tliat title. Romeo^_doff thy name, And for tliat name which is no part of thee Take all myself. Rom. I take thee at thy word : Call me but love, and I '11 be new baptized ; 50 Henceforth I never will be Romeo. $ ■1 -' -tA - 28 ROMEO AND JULIET. [act ii. Jxil. What man ai't thou that thus bescreen'd in night So stumblest on my counsel ? -V, .' , Rom. By a name "U-iAxlr iWt^/*--' I know not how to tell thee who I am : My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself. Because it is an enemy to thee ; Had I it written, I would tear the word. Jul. My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound : Art thou not Romeo and a Montague ? 60 Rom. Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike. / Jul. How camest thou hither, tell me, and wherefore ? ^The orchard walls are high and hard t.n nlhul-.^ ^^X'O'*^ cJL vAndthe place death,jconsideriiig_ who thou art, ijW U-*"^"^-^ ' If any of mv kinsmen find thee here. Rom. With love's light wings did I o'er-perchjhftsfi walisi ; For stonv limits cannot hold lovft nu<-.^ And what love can do that dares love attempt ; Therefoi'e thy kinsmen are no let to me. Jul. If they do see thee, they will murder thee. 70 Rom. Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye Than_twenty of their swords : look thou but swee.t, And I am proof against their enmity. Jul. I would not for the world they saw thee here. Rom. I have night's cloak to hide me fi-om tlieir sight ; ^ And but thou love me, let them find me here : My life were better ended by their hate. Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love. Jul. By whose direction found'st thou out this place ? Rom. By love, who first did promjit me to inquire ; 80 He lent me counsel and I lent him eyes. ( I am no pilot ; yet, wert thou as far ^ As that vast shore wasli'd with the farthest sea, 1 1 would adventure for such merchandise. Jul. Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face, Else would a maiden blush bepaii,it my cheek il*V| I SCENE II.] ROMEO AND JULIET. ^9 For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night. Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny What I have spoke : but farewell compliment ! Dost thou love me ? I know thou wilt say ' Ay,' 90 And I will take thy word : yet, if thou swe^r'st, Thou mayst prove false. ; at lover's perjuries. They say, Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo, ,sCw.*-« - '.. - • j If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully : ^ak^"*'- ■ ^^'i- JDjlif thou think'st I am tnn qmV-Vly vjr,-,^^ ^^—^ I '11 frown and be perverse and say thee nay. So thou wilt woo ; but else, not for the world. In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond. And therefore thou mayst think my 'haviour light : But trust me, gentleman, I '11 prove more true 100 Than those that have more cunning to be strange. Qhj I should have been more strange, I must confess, ■/ But that thou overheard'st, ere I was ware, My true love's passion : therefore pardon me, And not impute this yielding to light love, Which the dark nip^ht h^th 1"^ rligpAvt^rprl _ Rom. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear That tips with silver allthese fruit-tree tops — Jul. O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon. That monthly changes in her circled orb, 110 Lest that thy love prove likewise variable. Rom. What shall I swear by ? Jul. Do not swear at all ; Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, Which is the god of my idolatry. And I '11 believe thee. Rom. If my heart's dear love — ^ Jul. Well, do not swear : although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract to-night : 1 Lt is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden : "X. i.^- ^'•' Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be\ ■ ^ ^ "' — * Ere one can say 'It lightens? Sweet, good night ! 120 30 ROMEO AND JULIET. [act ii. This bud of love, by sunmier's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet. Good night, good night ! as sweet repose and rest Come to thy heart as that within my breast ! Rom. O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied 1 Jul. What satisfaction canst thou have to-night ? Rom. The exchange of thy love's faithful vowJFor mine. Jul. I gave thee mine before thou didst request it : And yet I would it were to give again. 129 Rom. Wouldst thou withdraw it ? for what purpose, love ? J^d. But to be frank, and give it thee again. And yet I wish but for the thing I have : Vvcv *<^*v>.'*yiKi-c£c.^.<- My bounty is as boundless as the sea, ^MyTove a.s deep ; the moi-e I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite. ^Nurse calls within. _T hear some noise within ] dear love, adieu ! Anon, good nurse ! Sweet Montague, be true. Stay but a little, I will come again. [Exit, above. C Rom. O blessed, blessed night ! I am afeard, /Being in night, all this is but a dream, 140 J Too flattering-sweet to be substantial. Re-enter Juliet, above. Jul. Three words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed. If that thy bent of love be honourable. Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow, By one that I '11 procure to come to thee, Where and what time thou wilt perform the rite ; And all my fortunes at thy foot I '11 lay And follow thee my lord throughout the world. Nurse. [ Within'] Madam ! Jill. I come, anon. — But if thou mean'st not well, 150 I do beseech thee — Nurse. [ Within] Madam ! Jul. By and by, I come : — SCENE 11.] ROMEO AND JULIET. 31 To cease thy suit, and leave me to luy grief : To-morrow will I send. Rom. So thrive my soul — Jul. A thousand times good night ! \^E.vit, above. Rom. A thousand times the worse, to want thy light. Love goes toward love, as schoolboys from their books, But love from love, toward school with heavy looks. [Retiring. Re-enter Juliet, above. Jul. Hist ! Eomeo, hist ! 0, for a falconer's voice, To lure this tassel-gentle back again ! 160 Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud ; '^'^ '- Else would I tear the cave where Echo Ijaa^ And make her airy tongue more hoarse thanmiue, ^With repetition ofmy" ITomeoVname. Ttom. It is my soul that calls upon my name : How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, Like softest music to attending ears ! , Jul. Eomeo ! Rom. My dear ? Jtil. At what o'clock to-morrow Shall I send to thee ? Rom. At the hour of nine. Jul. I will not fail : 'tis twenty years till then. 170 I have forgot why I did call thee back. 7^0?/!. Let me stand here till thou remember it. Jul. I shall forget, to have thee still stand there, Remembering how I love thy company. Rom. And I '11 still stay, to have thee still forget, Forgettin<:r anv other home but this. Jid. 'Tis almost morning ; I would have thee gone : And yet no further than a wanton's bird ; ,m*-aA***-»"«^ Who lets it hop a little from her hand. Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves, : •' 180 And with a silk thread plucks it back again, 32 ROMEO AND JULIET. [act ii. So loving- jealous of his liberty. Rom. I would I were thy bird. Jul. Sweet, so would I : Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing. Good night, good night ! parting is such sweet sorrow. That I shall say good night_tilLLbJ3e-4ttoiu:o^ft'. \^Ex{t above. Rom. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast ! Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest ! Hence will I to ray ghostly father's cell, s l-^-'i^'^U^M r His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell. [Exit. 190 Scene III. Friar Laurence^ Cell. Enter Friar Laurence, with a basket. I Fri. L. The grey-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night, C)^-^ 1 Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light, And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels From forth day's path and Titan's fiery wheels : 3 ^^t^-**- Now, ere the sun advance his burning eye, / The day to cheer and night's dank dew to dry, I must up-fill this osier cage of ours Jj*^wl»>Jr ♦♦i*-*"^*- With balefiil weeds and precious- juiced flowers. The earth that's nature's mother is,^ier tomb ; (fj--^ '■ What is her burying grave that is^her Avomb, a-*--^'- 10 "■^tiu^^ And from her womb children of divers kind We sucking on her natural bosom find, Many for many virtues excellent, .^o^)-^*"*' None but for some and yet all different. ^_^ ^ [^ O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies axy-*^^ " ,..vA.f J In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities : For nought so vile that on the earth doth live/ But to the earth some special good doth give, I Nor aught so good but sti'ain'd from that fair use^ Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse : / 20 Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied ; SCENE III.] EOMEO AND JULIET. 33 And vice sometimes by action dignified. "Within the infant rind of this small flower Poison hath residence and medicine power : For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part ; _Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart. Twosucli opposed kings encamp them still ^ul^^t*^ ^'•X^ \\»i^a «j>'— ^ Injnanas well as herbs, grac^ ''"^j T]]f]p ^yjl' • ^>'^**-^'^ tAjrtS'- -^^ And where the worser is jaredominant, Full soon the canker death eats un that. pla]^|- 30 Enter Eomeo^ Rom. Good morrow, father. ■Fri. L. Benedicite ! What early tongue so sweet saluteth me ? Young son, it argues a distemper'd head So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed : Care keeps his watch on every old man's eye. And where care lodges, sleep will never lie ; T But where uiibjoiised youth with unstuft''d brain I Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign : Therefore thy earliness doth me assure Thou art up-roused by some distemperature ; 40 Or if not so, then here I hit it right. Our Eomeo hath not been in bed to-night. Rom. That last is true ; the sweeter rest was mine. Fn. L. God pardon sin ! wast thou with Rosaline ? Rom. "With Eosaline, my ghostly father ? no ; I have forgot that name, and that name 's woe. M Fri. L. That 's my good son ; but where hast thou been, ^ ^ then ? Rom. I '11 tell thee, ere thou ask it me again. I have been feasting with mine enemy, _ IWhere on a sudden one hath wounded me, _ - 50 That 's by me wounded : both our remedies "Within thy help and holy physic lies : u 34 ROMEO AND JULIET. [act II. i^UC^«t4^^ 44 ROMEO AND JULIET. {act m. Brags of his substance, not of ornament ; -*^ J'"'^^*^' ** 'f'^' They are but beggars tliat can count their worth ; But my true love is grown to such excess I cannot sum up sum of half my wealth. / '**■*'.''"*■ ^^ Fri. L. Come, come with me, and we will make short work ; For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone Till holy church incorporate two in one. \^Exeunt. ACT III. Scene I. A public place. Enter Mercutio, Benvolio, Page, and Servants. Ben. I pray thee, good Mercutio, let 's retire : The day is hot, the Capulets abroad. And, if we meet, we shall not scape a brawl ; For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring. Mer. Thou art like one of those fellows that when he enters the confines of a tavern claps me his sword ujion the table and says ' God send me no need of thee ! ' and by the operation of the second cup draws it on the drawer, when in- deed there is no need. Ben. Am I like svich a fellow ? 10 Mer. Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as any in Italy, and as soon moved to be moody, and as soon moody to be moved. Ben. And what to ? Mer. Nay, an there were two such, we should have none shortly, for one would kill the other. Thou ! why, thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a hair more, or a hair less, in his beard, than thou hast : thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no other reason but because thou hast hazel eyes : what eye but such an eye would spy out such a q«arrel ? Thy head is as full of quarrels as an egg is full of meat, and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as an egg SCENE I.] ROMEO AND JULIET. 45 for quarrelling : thou hast quarrelled with a man for couo-hino- in the street, because he hath wakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun : didst thou not fall ovit with a tailor for wearing his new doublet before Easter? with another, for tying his new shoes with old riband ? and yet thou wilt tutor me from quarrelling ? Ben. An I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, auv man should buy the fee-simple of my life for an hour and a quarter. 31 Mer. The fee-simple ! O simple ! Ben. By my head, here come the Capulets. Mer. By my heel, I care not. Enter Tybalt and others. Tyh. Follow me close, for I will speak to them. Gentlemen, good den : a word with one of you. Mer. And but one word with one of us ? couple it witli something ; make it a word and a blow. Tyh. You shall find me apt enough to that, sir, an. you will give me occasion. ^^--- - ^^ ^Mer. Could you not take some occasion without giving T Tyh. Mercutio, thou consort'st with Romeo, — Mer. Consort ! what, dost thou make us minstrels ? an thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but discords : here 's my fiddlestick ; here 's that shall make you dance. 'Zounds, consort ! Ben. We talk here in the public haunt of men : \ Either withdraw into some private place, ] And reason coldly of your grievances, l Or else depart ; here all eyes gaze on us. 50 Mer. Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze ; I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I. Enter Romeo. Tyh. Well, peace be with you, sir : liere comes my man. 46 ROMEO AND JULIET. [act hi. Mer. But, I '11 be hang'd, sir, if he wear your livery : Marry, go before to field, he '11 be your follower ; Your worship in that sense may call him ' man.' Tyh. Romeo, the hate I bear thee can afford No better term than this, — thou art a villain. Rom. Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee Doth much excuse the appertaining rage 60 To such a greeting : villain am I none ; Therefore farewell ; I see thou know'st me not. Tyb. Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries That thou hast done me ; therefore turn and draw. Rom. I do protest, I never injured thee, But love thee better than thou canst devise, Till thou shalt know the reason of my love : And so, good Capulet, — which name I tender As dearly as my own, — be satisfied. Mer. O calm, dishonourable, vile submission ! VO Alia stoccata carries it away. [Draws. Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk ? Tyh. What wouldst thou have with me ? Mer. Good king of cats, nothing but one of your nine lives ; that I mean to make bold withal, and, as you shall use me hereafter, dry-beat the rest of the eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his pilcher by the ears ? make haste, lest mine be about your ears ere it be out. Tyh. I am for you. [Bramng. Rom. Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up. 80 Mer. Come, sir, your passado. [They Jight. Rom. Draw, Benvolio ; beat down their weapons. Gentlemen, for shame, forbear this outrage ! Tybalt, Mercutio, the prince expressly hath Forbidden bandying in Verona streets : Hold, Tybalt ! good Mercutio ! [Tyhalt under Romeo^s arm stabs Mercutio, and flies with his followers. Mer. I am hurt. 8CE>t: I.] ROMEO AND JULIET. 47 A plague o' both your houses ! I am sped. Is he gone, and hath nothing ? Ben. "What, art thou hurt ? Mer. Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch -, many, 'tis enough. Where is my page ? Go, villain, fetch a surgeon. 90 l^Exit Page. Rom. Courage, man ; the hurt cannot be much. Mer. No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church- door ; but 'tis enough, 'twill serve : ask for me to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave man. I am peppered, I warrant, for this world. A plague o' both yoiir Houses ! 'Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse, a cat, to scratch a man to death ! a braggart, a rogue, a villain, that fights by the book of arithmetic ! Why the devil came you between us ? I was hurt under your arm. Rom. I thought all for the best. 100 Mer. Help me into some house, Benvolio, Or I shall faint. A_plague o' both your housesj They have made worminneat^fme : T have it. And soundly too : your houses ! [E.veunt Mercutio and Benvolio. Rom. This gentleman, the prince's near ally. My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt In my behalf ; my reputation stain'd With Tybalt's slander, — Tybalt, that an hour Hath been my kinsman ! 0 sweet Juliet, Thy beauty hath made me effeminate i 110 And in my temper soften'd valour's steel ! Re-enter Benvolio. Ben. O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio 's dead ! That gallant spirit hath aspired the clouds, Which too untimely here did scorn the earth. Rom. This day's black fate on more days doth depend This but begins the woe others must end. 1 48 ROMEO AND JULIET. [act hi. Ben. Here comes the furious Tybalt back again. Rom. Alive, in triumph ! and Merputio slain ! Away to heaven, respective lenity, ^nd fire-eyed fury be my conduct now ! 120 Re-enter Tybalt. Now, Tybalt, take the villain back again, That late thou gavest me ; for Mercutio's soul Is but a little way above our heads, Staying for thine to keep him company : Either thou, or I, or both, must go with him. Tyh. Thou, wretched boy, that didst consort him here, Shalt with him hence. ^s/eiNj \f^5\j^ Rom. This shall determine that. [They fight; Tybalt falls. Ben. Romeo away, be gone ! The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain. Stand not amazed : the prince will doom thee death, 130 If thou art taken : hence, be gone, away ! Rom. O, I am fortune's fool ! Ben. " Why dost thou stay ? [E.Tit Romeo. Enter Citizens, &c. First Cit. Which way ran he that kill'd Mercutio ? Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he ? Ben. There lies that Tybalt. First Cit. Up, sir, go with me ; I charge thee in the prince's name, obey. Enter Prince, attended ; Montague, Capulet, their Wives, and others. Prin. Where are the vile beginners of this fray ? Ben. O noble prince, I can discover all The unlucky manage of this fatal brawl : ^-/^ c ~ ^ SCENE I.] ROMEO AND JULIET. ,,^^.--=5^ There lies the man, slain by young Romeo, 140 ^ That slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio. La. Cap. Tybalt, my cousin ! O my brother's child ! O prince ! O cousin ! husband ! 0, the blood is spilt Of my dear kinsman ! Prince, as thou art true, For blood of ours, shed blood of Montague. O cousin, cousin ! Prin. Benvolio, who began this bloody fray ? Ben. Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand did slay ; Romeo that spoke him fair, bade him bethink How nice the quarrel was, and urged withal 150 Your high displeasure -: all this uttered ^ With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow'd. Could not take truce with the vmruly spleen Of Tybalt deaf to peace, but that he tilts With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast, Cm'^ D Who, all as hot, turns deadly point to point, ^ And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats Cold death aside, and with the other sends It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity Retorts it : Romeo he cries aloud, 160 'Hold, friends ! friends, part ! ' and, swifter than his tongue, His agile arm beats down their fatal points. And 'twixt them rushes ; underneath whose arm An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled ; But by and by comes back to Romeo, Who had but newlv entertain'd revenge, And to 't they go like lightning, for, ere I Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slain. And, as he fell, did Romeo turn and fly. 170 This is the truth, or let Benvolio die. La. Cap. He is a kinsman to the Montague ; Aflfection makes him false ; he speaks not true : Some twenty of them fought in this black strife, And all those twenty could but kill one life. D 50 ROMEO AND JULIET. [act hi. I beg for justice, which thou, prince, must give ; Komeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live. Prin. Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio ; Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe ? Mon. Not Romeo, prince, he was Mercutio's friend ; 180 His fault concludes but what the law should end, - The life of Tybalt. Pnn. And for that offence . Immediately we do exile him hence : [^/f^ ^ I have an interest in your hate's proceeding, c^^^'law- <-y ^#«*vA< My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a-bleeding ; 'kt.iy.: •' But I'll ameice you with so strong a fine That you shall all repent the loss of mine : I will be deaf to pleading and excuses ; Nor tears nor prayers shall purchase out abuses : Therefore use none : let Ron^eo hence in haste,^ 190 Else, when he's found, that hour is his last. g^u^ H Bear hence this body and attend our will : "*^ (f-^<^^ ^j^c^. Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill. \Exeunt. Scene II. Capulet's orchard. Enter Juliet. J^il. Gallop ajjace, you fieiy-footed steeds, j-*^ Towards Phoebus' lodging : such a waggoner As Phaetlion would whip you to the west. And bring in cloudy night immediately. Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night. That runaways' eyes may wink, and Romeo Leap to these arms, untalk'd of and unseen. Come, night ; come, Romeo ; come, thou day in night ; — For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night Whiter than new snow on a raven's back. 10 Come, gentle night, come, loving, black -brow'd night. Give me my Romeo ; and, when he shall die, SCENK II.] ROMEO AND JULIET. 51 Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine ^-^ ' -" '^-" That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the gaiish sun. jf.£^'X*^-*^ O, I have bousfht the mansion of a love. But not possess'd it, and, though I am sold, 1 Not yet enjoy'd : so tedious is this day ^ As is the night before some festival 20 To an impatient child that hath new robes And may not wear them. O, here comes^my nursCj^ And she brings news ; and every tongue that speaks^; But Eomeo's name speaks heavenly eloquence.^ Enter Nurse, ipith cords. Now, nurse, what news ? What hast thou there ? the cords That Romeo bid thee fetch ? Nurse. Ay, ay, the cords. [Throws them doi'm. Jid. Ay me ! what news 1 why dost thou wring thy hands? Nurse. Ah, well-a-day ! he 's dead, he 's dead, he 's dead ! We are undone, ladv, we are undone I Alack the day ! he 's gone, he 's kill'd, he 's dead ! 30 Jul. Can heaven be so^envious ? Nurse. Romeo can, Though heaven cannot : O Romeo, Romeo ! Who ever would have thought it ] Romeo ! Jul. AVhat devil art thou, that dost torment me thus ? This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell. Hath Romeo slain himself ? sav thou but ' I,' And that bare vowel ' I ' shall poison more Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice : I am not I, if there be such an I ; Or those eyes shut that make thee answer ' I.' 40 If he be slain, say ' I ' ; or if not, no : Brief sounds determine of my weal or woe. 52 ROMEO AND JULIET. [act hi. JVtirse. I saw the wound, I saw it with mine e.yes, — God save the mark ! — here on his manly breast : A piteous corse, a bloody jiiteous corse ; Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub'd in blood, All in gore-blood : I swounded at the sight. Jul. O, break, my heart ! poor bankrupt, break at once ! To prison, eyes, ne'er look on liberty ! Vile earth, to earth resign ; end motion here ; 50 And thou and Eomeo press one heavy bier ! ^^urse. O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had ! O courteous Tybalt ! honest gentleman ! That ever I should live to see thee dead ! Jul. What storm is this that blows so contrarj^? Is Romeo slaughter'd, and is Tybalt dead ? My dear-loved cousin, and my dearer lord ? Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom ! For who is living, if those two are gone ? Nurse. Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished ; 60 Romeo that kill'd him, he is banished. Jtd. O God ! did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's blood 1 JVurse. It did, it did ; alas the day, it did ! Jul. O serpent heart, hid with a flowering face ? Bid ever dragon keep so fair a cave ? i^Lal- ■ ; Beautiful tyrant ! fiend angelical ! Dove-feather'd raven ! wolvish-ravening lamb ! p«*^ Dfispised svibstance of divinest show ! a^^^u^t^'t^c^^ I Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st, ^ A damned saint7 alTlTonourable villain ! 70 O nature, what hadst thou to do in hell, -«'*^ f*^ ****V *'*^^' When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend .a^^M*^<3<- In mortal paradise of such sweet flesh ? < ~t^Ca<^ rf^At*,^-^ »-' •- Did murder her ; as that name's cursed hand Murder'd her kinsman. O, tell me, friar, tell me, 58 /\i^y^^jjQr^ ROMEO AND JULIET. [act in. / In what vile pai't of this anatomy Doth my name lodge 1 tell me, that I may sack The hateful mansion. [Drau'ing his sword. ^^. X. Holdjhy desperate hand : I . Art thou a man ? thy form cries out thou art : Thy tears are womanish ; thy_wild acts denote 110 The unreasonable fury of a beast : Unseemly woman in a seeming man ! Or ill-beseeming beast in seeming both ! Thou hast amazed me : by my holy order, I thought thy disposition better temper'd. Hast thou slain Tybalt ? wilt thou slay thyself ? And slay thy lady too that lives in thee, By doing damned hate upon thyself ? Why rail'st thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth ? Since birth, and heaven, and earth, all three do meet 120 In thee at once ; which thou at once wouldst lose. Fie, fie, thou shamest thy shape, thy love, thy wit ; .yfv«»^,«j^«.vi ' Which, like a usurer, abound'st in all, And usest none in that true use indeed Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit : Thy noble shape is but a form of wax, ^j .r\^ LLU/^T^-fc, « C-- ■- . Digressing from the valour or a man ; ' Thy dear love sworn but hollow perjury. Killing that love which thou hast vow'd to cherish ; ' Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love, 130 "Mis-shapen in the conduct of them both. Like powder in a^killess sofdier's flask, _.Is_5£t.a^re_b2^thme^wTiJgnorance, -Hx f^- '♦■^'^^ And thou dismember'd with thine own defence. '^^.fUi-i What, rouse thee, man ! thy Juliet is alive. For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead ; There art thou happy : Tybalt would kill thee, But thou slew'st Tybalt ; there art thou happy too : The law that threaten'd death becomes thy friend And turns it to exile ; there art thou happy : 140 SCENE III.] ROMEO AND JULIET. 59 A pack of blessings lights upon thy back ; Happiness courts thee in her best array ; But, like a misbehaved and sullen wench, .^-^CL- m^,^^ Thou pout'st upon thy fortune and thy love : ^y^-^Mjt^ a^ -u^ Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable. Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed, coc ia,^* <£«'Ce'»«**«^-t*/' Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her J But look thou stay not till the watch be set, r^.^ to#c< For then thou canst not pass to Mantua ; Where thou shalt live, till we can find a time ^.£,^.,,4^. 1^^ .>>i,t.«^ij: *^ To lilaze your marriage, reconcile yoijr friends, '■ Beg pardon of the prince, and call thee back ^ With twenty himdred thousand/times more joy Than thou went'st forth in lamentation. Go before, nurse : commend me to thy lady ; And bid her hasten all the house to bed, Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto : Romeo is coming. Nurse. O Lord, I could have stay'd here all the night To hear good counsel : O, what learning is ! 160 My lord, I '11 tell my lady you will come. Rom. Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide. Nurse. Here, sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir : Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late. \^Exit. Rom. How well my comfort is revived by this I Fri. L. Go hence ; good night ; and here stands all your state : Either be gone before the watch be set, ^Orby thebreak_i2f,day disguised froni hence : Sojourn in Mantua ; I '11 find out your man. And he shall signify from time to time ,.^..a^K*' ■ v"-^ IVO Every good hap to you that chances here : Give me thy hand ; 'tis late : farewell ; good night. Rom. But that a joy past joy calls out on me. It were a grief, so brief to part with thee : Farewell. [Exeunt. 60 ROMEO AND JULIET. [act in. Scene IV. A room in Capulefs house. Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, mid Paris. Cap. Things have fall'n out, sir, so unhickily, That we have had no time to move our daughter : Look you, she loved her kinsman Tybalt dearly. And so did I : — Well, we were born to die. 'Tis very late, she '11 not come down to-night ; I promise you, but for your company, I would have been a-bed an hour ago. Par. These times of woe afford no time to woo. Madam, good night ; commend me to your daughter. La. Cap. I will, and know her mind early to-morrow ; 10 To-night she is mew'd up to her heaviness. Cap. Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender Of my child's love : I think she will be ruled In all respects by me ; nay, more, I doubt it not. Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed ; Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love ; And bidTier, mark you me, on Wednesday next — But, soft ! what day is this ? Par. Monday, my lord. Cap. Monday ! ha, ha ! Well, Wednesday is too soon, O' Thursday let it be : o' Thursday, tell her, 20 She shall be married to this noble earl. Will you be ready 1 do yoix like this haste ? We^l keep no great ado, — a friend or two ; For, hark you, Tybalt being slain so late, It may be thought we held him carelessly, Being our kinsman, if we revel much : Therefore we '11 have some half a dozen friends, And there an end. But what say you to Thursday ? Par. My lord, I would that Thursday were to-morrow. Cap. Well, get you gone : o' Thursday be it, then. 30 Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed. SCENE IV.] ROMEO AND JULIET. 61 Prepare her, wife, against tliis wedding-day. Farewell, my lord. Light to my chamber, ho ! Afore me ! it is so very very late, That we may call it early by and by. Good night. • [Ea^eunt. Scene V. Capulet's orchard. Enter Romeo and Juliet above, at the ivindoiv. Jul. Wilt thou be gone ? it is not yet near day : It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear ; Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree : Believe me, love, it was the nightingale. Rom. It was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale : look, love, what envious streaks ^j-^"l..^-v. Do lace the severing clouds in yondei^east : Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops. 10 I must be gone and live, or stay and die. Jul. Yon light is not day-light, I know it, I : ^ It is some meteor that the sun exhales, di/x&*^^ - ^'^*~t^ To be to thee this night a torch-bearer, "" And light thee on thy way to Mantua : Therefore stay yet ; thou need'st not to be gone. Rom. Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death ; I am content, so thou wilt have it so. I '11 say yon grey is not the morning's eye, 'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow ; , 20 Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat ' The vaulty heaven so high above our heads : I have more care to stay than will to go : Come, death, and welcome ! Juliet wills it so. How is 't, my soul ? let 's talk ; it is not day. 62 ROMEO AND JULIET. [act in. Jul. It is, it is : hie hence, be gone, away ! It is the lark that sings so out of tune, y^ Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps. Some say the lark makes sweet division ',,xi^cwy^ This doth not so, for she divideth us : 30 Some say the lark and loathed toad change eyes ; 0, now I would they had changed voices too ! Since arm from arm that voice doth thus affray, ^'^*^ J^i^i^ Hunting thee hence with hunt's-up to the day. O, now be gone ; more light and light it grows. Rom. More light and light ; more dark and dark our woes ! Ente?- Nur^e, to the chamber. Nurse. Madam ! J%d. Nurse ? Nurse. Your lady mother is coming to your chamber : The day is broke ; be wary, look about. {Exit. 40 J^d. Then, window, let day in, and let life out. Rom. Farewell, farewell ! one kiss, and I '11 descend. {He goeth down. Jul. Art thou gone so ? love, lord, ay, husband, friend ! I must hear from thee every day in the hour. For in a minute there are many days : O, by this count I shall be much in years Ere I again behold my Romeo. Ro7n. Farewell ! I will omit no opportunity That may convey my greetings, love, to thee. 50 Jul. O, think'st thou we shall ever meet again ? Rom. I doubt it not ; and all these woes shall serve For sweet discourses in our time to come. J\d. O God, I_have an ill-divining soul ! Methinks I see_thfifi,__now thou art below, As one^ead in the bottom of a tomb : Either my eyesight fails, or thou look'st pale. Rom. And trust me, love, in my eye so do you : SCENE v.] ROMEO AND JULIET. 63 Dry sorrow drinks o\;r blood. Adieu, adieu ! [Exit. Jul. O fortune, fortune ! all men call thee fickle : 60 If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him That is renown'd for faith ? Be fickle, fortune ; For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long, But send him back^ La. Cap. [Within^ Ho, daughter ! are you up ? Jul. Who is 't that calls ? is it my lady mother ? Is she not down so late, or up so early ? What unaccustom'd cause procures her hither ? Enter Lady Capulet. La. Cap. Why, how now, Juliet ! Jul. Madam, I am not well. La. Cap. Evermore weeping for your cousin's death ? What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears ? 70 An if thou couldst, thou couldst not make him live ; Therefore, have done : some grief shows much of love ; But much of grief shows still some want of wit. J21I. Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss. La. Cap. So shall you feel the loss, but not the friend Which you weep for. Jul. Feeling so the loss, I cannot choose but ever weep the friend. La. Cap. Well, girl, thou weep'st not so much for his death. As that the villain lives which slaughter'd him. Jul. What A'illain, madam ? La. Cap. That same villain, Eomeo. 80 Jid. [Aside] Villain and he be many miles asunder. — God pardon him ! I do, with all my heart ; And yet no man like he doth grieve my heart. La. Cap. That is, because the traitor murderer lives. Jtd. Ay, madam, from the reach of these my hands : Would none but I might venge mv cousin's death ! La. Cap. We will have vengeance for it, fear thou not : 64 ROMEO AND JULIET. [act hi. Then weep no more. I '11 send to one in Mantua, Where that same banish'd runagate doth live, Shall give him such an unaccustom'd dram, 90 That he shall soon keep Tybalt company : And then, I hope, thou wilt be satisfied. Jul. Indeed, I never shall be satisfied With Bomeo, till I behold him — dead — Is my poor heart so for a kinsman vex'd : Madam, if you could find out but a man To bear a poison, I would temper it ; That Romeo should, upon receipt thereof. Soon sleep in quiet. O, how my heart abhors To hear him named, and cannot come to him, 100 To wreak the love I bore my cousin Upon his body that hath slaughter'd him ! La. Cap. Find thou the means, and I '11 find such a man. But now I '11 tell thee joyful tidings, girl. Jul. And joy comes well in such a needy time : What are they, I beseech your ladyship ? La. Cap. Well, well, thou hast a careful fathei-, child ; One who, to put thee from thy heaviness. Hath sorted out a sudden day of joy. That thou expect'st not nor I look'd not for. 110 Jul. Madam, in happy time, what day is that ? La. Cap. Marry, my child, early next Thursday morn, The gallant, young and noble gentleman, The County Paris, at Saint Peter's Church, Shall happily make thee there a joyful bride. Jul. Now^by_ Saint Peter's Church and Peter too, He shall not make me there a joyful bride. I wonder at this haste ; that I must wed EreHie, that should be husband, comes to woo. I pray you, tell my lord and father, madam, 120 fwilliiot marry yet ; and, when I do, I swear, It shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate. Rather than Paris. These are news indeed ! SCENE v.] ROMEO AND JULIET. 65 La. Cap. Here comes your father ; tell him so yourself, And see how he will take it at your hands. Enter Capulet and Nurse. Cap. When the sun sets, the air doth drizzle dew ; But for the sunset of my brother's son It rains downright. How now ! a conduit, girl ? what, still in tears ? Evermore showering ? In one little body 130 Thou counterfeit'st a bark, a sea, a wind ; For still thy eyes, which I may call the sea, Do ebb and flow with tears ; the bark thy body is. Sailing in this salt flood ; the winds, thy sighs ; "Who, raging with thy tears, and they with them, Without a sudden calm, will overset Thy tempest-tossed body. How now, wife ! Have you deliver'd to her our decree ? La. Cap. Ay, sir ; but she will none, she gives you thanks. I would the fool were married to her grave ! 140 ^ Cap. Soft ! take me with you, take me with you, wife. i _*;r: '^ How ! will she none ? doth she not cive us thanks ? ' , \(y^ O \ j ■ Is she not proud ? does she not count her blest, ;, -i Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought ^^ So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom ? Jul.J^ot proud, you have ; but thankful, that you have : Proud can 1 never be of what I hate^ ~~ But thankful even for hate, that is meant love. — - ' Cap. How now, how now, chop-logic ! What is this ? ' Proud,' and ' I thank you,' and ' I thank you not ; ' 150 ^ And yet ' not proud : ' mistress minion, you, ■ '' ["■^•^'^^ *t Thank me no thankings, nor i)roud me no prouds. But fettle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next, , • a, Z"**^^ To go with Paris to Saint Peter's Church, Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither. X Out, you green sickneis^cafrlon ! out, you baggage ! E 66 ROMEO AND JULIET. [act hi. You tallow-face ! La. Cap. Fie, fie ! what, are you mad ? Jul. Good father, I beseech you on Iny knees. Hear me with patience, but to speak a word. Cap. Hang thee, young baggage ! disobedient wretch ! 160 I tell thee what : get thee to church o' Thursday, Or never after look me in the face : Speak not, reply not, do not answer me ; My fingers itch. Wife, we scarce thought us blest That God had lent us but this only child ; But now I see this one is one too much, And that we have a curse in having her : -^ . Out on her, hilding ! ' '. , ' ' ' r^— ~ Niirse. God in heaven bless her ! Yoii are to blame, my lord, to rate her so. Cap. And why, my lady wisdom ? hold your tongue, 170 Good prudence ; smatter with your gossips, go. Nurse. I speak no treason. Cap. ■ O. God ye god-den. •/^/«/*"' N^irse. May not one speak ? ' ' Cap. Peace, you mumbling fool ! Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl ; For here we need it not. La. Cap. You are too hot; Cap. God's bread ! it male es me mad : Day, night, hour, tide, time, work, play, Alone, in company, still my care hath been, To have her match'd : and having now provided A gentleman of noble parentage, 180 Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly train'd, StufF'd, as they say, with honourable parts, Proportion'd as one's thought would wish a man ; And then to have a wretched puling fool, A whining mammet, in her fortune's tender, Tolanswer"' T'U not wed ; I cannot love, I am too young ; I pray you, pardon me.' SCENE v.] KOMEO AND JULIET. 67 But, an yoti will not wed, I '11 pardon you : Graze where you will, you shall not house with me : , ^ Look to 't, think on 't, I do not use to jest. yi*'' 190 Thursday is near ; lay hand on heart, advise : i;:;«^>*v An you be mine, I '11 give you to my friend ; An you be not, hang, beg, starve, die in the streets, .For, by my soulTT'll ne'er acknowledge thee, Nor what is mine shall never do thee good : Trust to 't, bethink you ; I '11 not be forsworn. -j.t,-ii.[^Exit.-- Jul. Is there no pity sitting in the clouds, ^, ,,\**i>-.- That sees into the bottom of my grief ■? O, sweet my mother, cast me not away ! Delay this mairiage for a month, a week ; 200 Or, if you do not, make the bridal bed In that dim monument where Tybalt lies. La. Cap. Talk not to me, for I '11 not speak a word : Do as thou wilt, for I have done with tliee. \^E.vit. Jul. O God ! — O luirse, how shall this be prevented My husband is on earth, my faith in heaven ; How shall that faith return again to eartli, Unless that husband send it me from lieaven By leaving earth 1 comfort me, counsel me. Alack, alack, that heaven should practise stratagems 210 Upon so soft a subject as myself ! " AYhat say'st thou ? hast thou not a word of joy ? Some comfort, nurse. Nurse. Faith, here it is. Romeo is banish'd ; and all the world to nothing. That he dares ne'er come back to challenge you 'tcCg^*^*^^.,. Or, if he do, it needs must be by stealth. Then, since the case so stands as now it doth, I think it best you married with the county. O, he 's a lovely gentleman ! Romeo 's a dishclovit to him : an eagle, madam, di^'^^ 220 'tf Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye '' ' As Paris hath. Beshiew my very heart, 68 ROMEO AND JULIET. [act iv. I think you are happy in this second match, For it excels your first : or if it did not, Your first is dead ; or 'twere as good he were, As living here and you no use of him. Jul. Speakest thou from thy heart ? Nurse. And from my soul too ; Or else beshrew them both. Jul. Amen ! Nurse. What 1 Jul. Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous much. Go in ; and tell my lady 1 am gone, £30 Having displeased my father, to Laurence' cell, To make confession, and to be absolved. Nurse. Marry, I will ; and this is wisely done. \^Exii. Jul. Ancient damnation ! O most wicked fiend ! Is it more sin to wish me thus forsworn. Or to dispraise my lord with that same tongue Which she hath praised him with above compare So many thousand times 1 Go, counsellor ; Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain. I'll to the friar, to know his remedy : 240 If all else fail, myself have power to die. [^E.vit. ACT IV. Scene I. Friar Laurence's cell. Enter Friar Laurence and Paris. Fri. L. On Thursday, sir 1 the time is very short. Par. My father CajDulet will have it so ; And I am nothing slow to slack his haste. Fri. L. You say you do not know the lady's mind Uneven is the course, I like it not. Par. Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death. SCENE r.] ROMEO AND JULIET. 69 And therefore have I little talk'd of love ; For Venus smiles not in a house of tears. Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous That she^oth give her sorrow so much sway, ^ 10 md in his wisdom hastes our marriage, To stop the inundation of her tears ; Which, too much minded by herself alone, May be put from her by society : Now do you know the reason of this haste. Fri. L. [Aside] I would I knew not why it should be slow'd. Look, sir, here comes the lady towards my cell. Enter Juliet. Par. Happily met, my lady and my wife ! Jul. That may be, sir, when I may be a wife. Par. That may be must be, love, on Thursday next. 20 Jul. "What must be shall be. Fri. L. That 's a certain text. Par. Come you to make confession to this father ? Jul. To answer that, I should confess to you. Par. Do not deny to him that you love me. Jul. I will confess to you that I love him. Pai: So will ye, I am sure, that you love me. J\d. If I do so, it will be of more price. Being spoke behind your back, than to your face. Par. Poor soul, thy face is much abused with tears. Jid. The tears have got small victory by that ; 30 For it was bad enough before their spite. Par. Thou wrong'st it, more than tears, with that report. Jid. That is no slander, sir, which is a truth ; And wliat I s]mke, I spake it to my face. Par. Thy face is mine, and thou hast slander'd it. Jul. It may be so, for it is not mine own. Are you at leisure, holy father, now ; Or shall I come to you at evening mass ? 70 ROMEO AND JULIET. [act iv. Fri. L. My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, now. My lord, we must entreat the time alone. 40 Par. God shield I should disturb devotion ! Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouse ye : Till then, adieu ; and keep this holy kiss. [Exit. Jul. O, shut the door ! and when thou hast done so, Come weep with me ; past hope, past cure, past help ! Fri. L. Ah, Juliet, I already know thy grief ; It strains me past the compass of my wits : I hear thou must, and nothing may prorogue it, On Thursday next be married to this county. Jul. Tell me not, friar, that thou hear'st of this, 50 Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it : If, in thy wisdom, thou canst give no help, Do thou but call my resolution wise, oJl/U-^^^^^" And with this knife I '11 help it presently. God join'd my heart and Romeo's, thou our hands ; And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo seal'd, Shall be the label to another deed. Or my true heart with treacherous revolt , Tiu'n to another, this shall slay them both : \-jUj.-''X ^ Therefore, out of thy long-experienced time, 60 Give me some present counsel, or, behold, j- 'Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife '*' &iiM^'^\ Shall play the umpire, arbitrating that .'. , Cl^"^ ^ And hither shall he come : and he and I Will watch thy waking, and that very night Shall Eomeo bear thee hence to Mantua. And this shall free thee from this present shame ; If no,inconstant toy,^ nor jmmanish fear^ ^^ Abate thy valour in the acting it. 120 Jxhl. Give me, give me ! O, tell not me of fear ! Fn. L. Hold ; get you gone, be strong snd prosperous In this resolve : I '11 send a friar with speed To Mantua, with my letters to thy lord. Jul. Love_give me strength ! and strength shall help afford. Farewell, dear fatherj__ ' ~ {Exeunt. Scene II. Hall in Capulefs house. Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, Nurse, and two Servingmen. Cap. So many guests invite as here are writ. \^Exit First Servant. Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks. Sec. Serv. You shall have none ill, sir ; for I '11 try if they can lick their fingers. Cap. How canst thou try them so ? Sec. Serv. Marry, sir, 'tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers : therefore he tliat cannot lick his fingers goes not with me. Cap. Go, be gone. [Exit Sec. Servant. We shall be much unfurnish'd for this time. 10 What, is my daughter gone to Friar Laurence ? J/tcrse. Ay, forsooth. SCENE II.] ROMEO AND JULIET. 73 Cap. Well, he may chance to do some good on her. Nurse. See where she comes from shrift with meriy look. Enter Juliet. Cap. How now, my headstrong ! where have you been \^ gadding? y^^ Jul. Where I have learn'd me to repent the sin V, ^ Of disobedient opposition ^ "^ \\r/^^ To von and vnnr bflifists. nnd nm pninin'rl ' '\ ■' . To you and your behests, and am enjoin'd ^ '^ •' ^^^ p And beg your pardon : pardon, I beseech you ! 1 A 20 By holy Laurence to fall prostrate here, _ JK S^ I Henceforward I am ever ruled by you. Cap. Send for the county ; go tell him of this : I'll have this knot knit up to-morrow morning. Jul. I met the youthful lord at Laurence' cell ; And gave him what becomed love I might, Not stepping o'er the bounds of modesty. Cap. Why, I am glad on 't ; this is well : stand up : This is as 't should be. Let me see the county ; Ay, marry, go, I say, and fetch him hither. Now, afore God ! this reverend holy friar, 30 All our whole city is much bound to him. Jicl. Nurse, will you go with me into my closet. To help me sort such needful ornaments As you think fit to furnish me to-morrow ? La. Cap. No, not till Thursday ; there is time enough. Cap. Go, nurse, go with her : we'll to church to-morrow. [Kveuni Jxdiet atid Nurse. La. Cap. We shall be short in our provision : 'Tis now near night. Cap. Tush, I will stir about, And all things shall be well, I warrant thee, wife : Go thou to Juliet, help to deck up her ; 40 I'll not to bed to-night ; let me alone ; I'll play the housewife for this once. What, ho ! They are all forth. Well, I will walk myself 74 ROMEO AND JULIET. [act iv. To County Paris, to prepare him up ■Against to-morrow : my heart is wondi'ous light, Since this same wayward girl is so reclaim' d._ [Exeunt. Scene III. Juliet's chamber. Enter Juliet and Nurse. Jul. Ay, those attires are best : but, gentle nurse, I pray thee, leave me to myself to-night ; For I have need of many orisons - ^-^-^5^5-^*-" To move the heavens to smile upon my state, <^,.-'.c.v d Which, well thou know'st, is cross and full of sin. Enter Lady Capulet. La. Cap. What, are you busy, ho ? need you ray help ? Jul. No, madam ; we have cull'd such necessaries As are behoveful for our state to-morrow : So please you, let me now be left alone. And let the nurse this night sit up with you ; 10 For, I am sure, you have your hands full all. In this so sudden business. La. Cap. Good night : Get thee to bed, and rest ; for thou hast need. [Exeunt Lady Cwpulet and Nurse. Jul. Farewell ! God knows when we shall meet again. I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins, That almost freezes up the heat of life : » I '11 call them Ijack again to comfort me : Nurse. What should she do here ? My dismal scene I needs must act alone. Come, vial. 20 What if this mixture do not work at all ? Shall I be married then to-morrow morning 1 No, no : this shall forbid it : lie thou there. [Laying down her dayger. SCENE III.] ROMEO AND JULIET. 75 What if it be a poison, which the friar Subtly hath miiiister'd to have me dead, Lest in this marriage he should be dishonour'd. Because he married me before to Romeo ? I fear it is : and yet, methinks, it should not, t-r^^f ■' For he hath still been tried a holy man. /jl^/v*-**-- How if, when I am laid into the tomb, 30 I awake before the time that Romeo ^^ome to redeem me % there 's a fearful point ! Shall I not, then, be stifled in the vault. To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes inj_ And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes ? __ Or, if i live, is it not very like, TJie liorj-ible conceit of death and night, -* '' ""1^ Together with the terror of the place, — As in a vault, an ancient recejjtacle. Where, for this many hundred years, the bones 40 Of all my buried ancestors are pack'd : Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth, Lies festering in his shroud ; where, as they say, At some hours in the night spirits resort ; — 'Alack, alack, is it not like that I, (So early waking, what with loathsome smells, [And shrieks like mandrakes' torn out of the earth, I That living mortals, hearing them, run mad : — O, if I wake, shall I not be distraiight, EnA'ironed with all these hideous fears \ 50 And madly play with my forefathers' joints ? And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud? And, in this rage, with some great kinsman's bone, As with a club, dash out my desperate brains ? O, look ! methinks I see my cousin's ghost ~^ — . / ( Seeking out Romeo, that did sprt his body ^»1*^*^' Upon a rapier's point : stay, Tybalt, stay ! Romeo, I come ! this do I drink to thee. \She falls upon her bed, ivithin tlie curtains. 76 ROMEO AND JULIET. [act iv. Scene IV. Hall in Capulet's house. Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse. La. Cap. Hold, take these keys, and fetch more spices, nurse. Nurse. They call for dates and quinces in the pastry. Enter Capulet. Cap. Come, stir, stir-, stir ! the second cock hath crow'd, The curfew-bell hath rung, 'tis three o'clock : Look to the baked meats, good Angelica : Spare not for cost. Nurse. Go, you cot-quean, go, Get you to bed ; faith, you '11 be sick to-morrow For this night's watching. Cap. No, not a whit : what ! I have watch'd ere now All night for lesser cause, and ne'er been sick. 10 La. Cap. Ay, you have been a mouse-hunt in your time ; But I will watch you from such watching now. [Exeunt Lady Capulet and Nirse. Cap. A jealous-hood, a jealous-hood ! Enter three or four Servingmen, with spits, logs, and baskets. Now, fellow. What's there. First Herv. Things for the cook, sir ; but I know not what. Cap. IV^ake haste, make haste, [Exit First Serv.'] Sirrah, fetch drier logs : Call Peter, he will show thee where they are. Sec. Serv. I have a head, sir, that will find out logs, And never trouble Peter for the matter. [Exit. Cap. Mass, and well said ; 20 Thou shalt be logger-head. Good faith, 'tis day : The county will be here with music straight, SCENE IV.] ROMEO AND JULIET. 77 For so he said he would : I hear him near. [Mtisic within. Nurse ! Wife ! What, ho ! What, nurse, I say ! Re-enter Nurse. Go waken Juliet, go and trim her up ; I '11 go and chat with Paris : hie, make haste, Make haste ; the bridegroom he is come already : Make haste, I say. [^Exexint. Scene V. Juliet's chamber. Enter Nurse. Nurse. Mistress ! what, mistress ! Juliet ! fast, I warrant her, she : Why, lamb ! why, lady ! fie, you slug-a-bed ! Why, love, I say ! madam ! sweet-heart ! why, bride ! Marry, and amen, how sound is she asleep ! I must needs wake her. Madam, madam, madam ! Ay, let the county take you in your bed ; He'n fright you up, i' faith. Will it not be ? [Undraws the curtains. What, dress'd ! and in your clothes ! and down again ! I must needs wake you : Lady ! lady ! lady ! Alas, alas ! Help, help ! my lady 's dead ! 10 O, well-a-day, that ever I was born ! Some aqua vitse, ho ! My lord ! my lady ! Enter Lady Capulet. La. Cap. What noise is here ? Nurse. O lamentable day ! La. Cap. What is the matter ? Nurse. Look, look ! O heavy day ! La. Cap. O me, O me ! My child, my only life, 78 ROMEO AND JULIET. [act iv. Revive, look iip, or I will die with thee ! Help, lielp ! Call help. Enter Capulet. ■ Cap. For shame, bring Juliet forth ; her lord is come. Nu7'se. She 's dead, deceased, she 's dead ; alack the day ! La. Cap. Alack the day, she's dead, she's dead, she's dead ! • Cap. Ha ! let me see her : out, alas ! she 's cold ; 21 Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff ; Life and these lips have long been separated : Death lies on her like an untimely frost Upon the sweetest flower of all tlie field. Niirse. O lamentable day ! La. Cap. O woful time ! Cap. Death, that hath ta'en her hence to make me wail. Ties up my tongue, and will not let me speak. Enter Friar Laurence and Paris, with Musicians. Fri. L. Come, is the bride ready to go to church ? Cap. Ready to go, but never to return. 30 O son ;- the njght before thy wedding-day Hath Deatli lain with thy wife. There she lies, C, Flower as she was, deflowered by him. Death is my son-in-law. Death is my heir ; My daughter he hath wedded : I will die. And leave him all ; life, living, all is Death's. Par. Have I thought long to see this morning's face, And doth it give me such a sight as this ? La. Cap. Accursed, unhajjpy, wretch, hateful day ! Most miserable hour that e'er time saw 40 In lasting labour of his pilgrimage ! But one, poor one, one poor and loving child. But one thing to rejoice and solace in. And cruel death hath cateh'd it from my sight ! Nurse. O woe ! O woful, woful, woful day ! SCENE v.] ROMEO AND JULIET. 79 Most lamentable day, most woful day, That ever, ever, I did yet behold ! O day ! 0 dav ! O dav ! O hateful dav ! Never was seen so black a day as this : O wofvil day, O woful day ! 50 Par. Beguiled, divorced, wronged, spited, slain ! Most detestable death, by thee beguiled, By cruel cruel thee quite overthrown ! O love ! O life ! not life, but love in death ! Cap. Despised, distressed, hated, martyr'd, kill'd ! Uncomfortable time, why earnest thou now To mui'der, murder our solemnity ? O child ! O child ! my soul, and not my child ! Dead art thou ! Alack ! my child is dead ; And with my child my joys are buried. 60 Fri. L. Peace, ho, for shame ! confusion's cure lives not /ak^^^*-' In these confusions. Heaven and yourself tt-aAts'ji*' Had part in this fair maid ; now heaven hath all. And all the better is it for the maid : Your part in her you could not keep from death, But heaven keeps his part in eternal life. The most you sought was her promotion ; For 'twas your heaven she should be advanced : And weep ye now, seeing she is advanced Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself ? 70 O, in this love, you love your child so ill, That you run mad, seeing that she is well : ^ She 's not well married that lives married long ; .Ciu>a-* 14. But she 's best married that dies married young. Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary; On this fair corse ; and, as the custom is, In all her best array bear her to church : For though faud, nature bids us all lament, «r-t>-a^*- • ^x^^^-^vm:- Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment. Cap. All things that we ordained festival, ^x' 80 Turn from their office to black f uneraT; 80 ROMEO AND JULIET. [act iv. Our instruments to melancholy bells, Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast, Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change, ^ , AH«.t,»*,.w/ ^ W< Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse, 'Muj^A^a^^T And all things change them to the contrary. Fri. L. Sir, go you in ; and, madam, go with him ; And go. Sir Paris ; every one prepare To follow this fair corse unto her grave : The heavens do lour upon you for some ill ; 90 Move them no more by crossing their high will. [Exeunt Capulet, Lady Capulet, Paris, and Friar. First Mks. Faith, we may put up our pipes, and be gone. Nurse. Honest good fellows, ah, put up, put up ; For, well you know, this is a pitiful case. \E.vit. First Mus. Aj, by my troth, the case may be amended. Enter Peter. Pet. Musicians, O, musicians, ' Heart's ease, Heart's ease :' O, an you will have me live, play ' Heart's ease.' First Mus. Why ' Heart's ease ' ? Pet. O, musicians, because my heart itself plays ' My heart is full of woe : ' O, play me some merry dump, to comfort me. 101 First Mus. Not a dump we ; 'tis no time to play now. Pet. You will not, then ? First Mus. No. Pet. I will then give it you soundly. First Mus. "What will you give us ? Pet. No money, on my faith, but the gleek ; I will give you the minstrel. First Mus. Then will I give you the serving-creature. Pet Then will I lay the serving-creature's dagger on your pate. I will carry no crotchets : I '11 re you, I '11 fa you ; do you note me ? 112 First Mus. And you re us and fa us, you note us. O SCENE v.] ROMEO AND JULIET. gl Sec. Mils. Pray you, put up your dagger, and put out your wit. Pet. Then have at you with mv wit ! I will dry-beat vou with an iron wit, and put up my iron dagger. Answer me like men : ' When griping grief the heart doth wound, And doleful dumps the mind oppress, 120 Then music with her silver sound ' — why 'silver sound'? why 'music with her silver sound'? What say you, Simon Catling ? First Mus. Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound. Pet. Pretty ! What say you, Hugh Eebeck ? Sec. Mus. I say ' silver sound,' because musicians sound for silver. Pet. Pretty too ! What say you, James Soundpost ? Third Mus. Faith, I know not what to say.' 129 Pet. O, I cry you mercy ; you are the singer : I will say for you. It is 'music with her silver sound,' because musi- cians have no gold for sounding ; ' Then music with her silver sound With speedy help doth lend redress.' {E.vit. First Mus. What a pestilent knave is this same ! Sec. M^is. Hang him. Jack ! Come, we '11 in here ; tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner. [Exeunt. ACT V. Scene I. Mantua. A street. Enter Eomeo. Rom. If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep. My dreams presage some joyful news at hand : My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne ; And all this day an unaccustom'd spirit ; Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts. 82 ROMEO AND JULIET. [act v. I dreamt my lady came and found me dead — Strange dream, that gives a dead man leave to think ! — And breathed such life with kisses in my lips, That I revived, and was an emperor. Ah me ! how sweet is love itself possess'd, 10 When but love's shadows are so rich in joy ! Enter Balthasar, hooted. 20 News from Verona ! — How now, Balthasar ! Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar 1 How doth my lady ? Is my father well ? How fares my Juliet ? that I ask again ; For nothing can be ill, if she be well. Bal. Then she is well, and nothing can be ill : Her body sleeps in Capel's monument. And her immortal part with angels lives. I saw her laid low in her kindred's vavilt. And presently took post to tell it you : O, pardon me for bringing these ill news, Since you did leave it for my office, sir. Rom. Is it even so ? then I defy you, stars ! Thou know'st my lodging : get me ink and paper. And hire post-horses ; I will hence to-night. Bal. I do beseech you^ sir, have patience j__ Yours looks are pale and^wjld, and do import Some misadventure. 'Emn. ' Tush, thou art deceived : Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do. Hast thou no letters to me from the friar 1 Bal. No, my good lord. Rom. No matter : get thee gone. And hire those horses ; I '11 be with thee straight. [Exit Balthasar. Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night. Let's see for means : O mischief, thou art swift 30 SCEJJE I.] ROMEO AND JULIET. 83 To enter in the thoughts of desperate men ! I do remember an apothecary, — And hereabouts a' dwells, — which late I noted ^x.^ In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows, ^it*;o\\ thy life. I charge thee, Whate'er thou heai-'st or seest, stand all aloof, ^,.*«»*-6t ***^ "- And do not interrupt me i]i my course. Why I descend into this bed of death. Is partly to behold my lady's face ; But chiefly to take thence from her dead finger 30 A 2>i'ecious ring, a ring that I nmst use In dear employment : therefore hence, be gone : '^^ But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry ut<-*ui^.*^fi'u ■ In what I further shall intend to do. By heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint And strew this himgry churchyard with thy limbs : The time and my intents are savau'e-wild. More fierce and more inexorable far Than emjity tigers or the roaring sea. 5aZ. I will be gone, sir, and not trouble you. 40 Rom. So shalt thou show me friendsbip. Take thou that : SCENE III.] ROMEO AND JULIET. 87 Live, and be prosperous : and farewell, good fellow. Bal. {^Aside] For all this same, I '11 hide me hereabout : His looks I fear, and his intents I doubt. [^Retires. Rom. Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death,*; Goi'ged with the dearest morsel of the earth, Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open. And, in despite, I '11 cram thee with more food ! [Opens the tomb. Par. This is that banish'd haughty Montague, ^ ' That murder'd my love's cousin, with which grief, 50 It is supposed, the fair creature died'; And here is come to do some villanous shame To the dead bodies : I Avill apprehend him. [Comes fonuard. Stop thy unhallow'd toil, vile Montague ! Can vengeance be pursued further than death ? Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee : Obey, and go with me ; for thou must die. Rom. I must indeed ; and therefore came I hither. Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man ; Fly hence, and leave me : think upon these gone ; 60 Let them affright thee. I beseech thee, youth, jPut not another sin upon my head, . By urging me to fury : O, be gone ! '■ By Tieaven, I love thee better than myself ; For I come hither arm'd against myself ; Stay not, be gone ; live, and hereafter say, A madman's mercy bade thee run away. Tar. I do defy thy conjurations, And apprehend thee for a felon here. Rom. Wilt thou provoke me ? then have at thee, boy ! 70 [They fight. Page. O Lord, they. fight I I will go call the watch. Exit. Par. O, I am slain ! [Falls.'] If thou be merciful. Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet. [Dies. Rom. In faith, I will. Let me peruse this face. Mercutio's kinsman, noble County Paris ! ok! \ 88 ROMEO AND JULIET. [act v. What said my man, when my betossed soul Did not attend him as we rode ? I think He told me Paris should have married Juliet : Said he not so 1 or did I dream it so ? Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet, 80 To think it was so ? O, give me thy hand, One writ with me in sour misfortune's book I '11 bury thee in a triumphant grave ; A grave ! O. no ! a lantern, slaughter'd youth, For here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes This vault a feasting presence full of light. Death, lie thou there, by a dead man interr'd. [Lai/ing Paris in the tomb. vHow oft when men are at the point of death /Have they been merry ! which their keepers call ^^^i u ./-A**^J |A lightning before death : O, how maj' T 90 Call this a lightning ? O my love I my wife ! Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath. Hath had no jDower yet upon thy beauty : Thou art not conquer'd ; beauty's ensign yet Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, And death's pale flag is not advanced there. Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet ? O, what more favour can I do to thee, Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain To sunder his that was thine enemy ? 100 Forgive me, cousin ! Ah, dear Juliet, Why art thou yet so fair ? shall I believe ZThat unsubstantial death is amorous, <^ii, ii' '^•^■»<' "* ^And that the lean abhorred monster keeps PThee here in dark to be his paramour ? 'For fear of that, I still will stay with thee : ; / And never from this palace of dim night Dejiart again : here, here will I remain With worms tliat are tliy cliamber-maids ; O, here Will I set ujj my everlasting rest, 110 SCENE III.] ROMEO AND JULIET. 89 And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars '^^'^ ^'^ From this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last ! Arms, take your last embrace ! and, lips, O you The doors of bi-eath, seal with a righteous kiss A dateless bargain to engrossing death I vome, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide ! .'i^W"**-*-^*^ '-■ ?hou desperate pilot, now at once run on Che dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark ! Here 's to my love ! {Drinks^ O true apothecary ! Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die. {Dies. 120 Enter, at the other end of the churchyard, Friar Laurence, with a lantern, croiv, and spade. Fri. L. Saint Francis be my speed ! how oft to-night Have my old feet stumbled at graves ! Who 's there ? Bal. Here 's one, a friend, and one that knows you well. Fri. L. Bliss be upon you ! Tell me, good my friend, What torch is yond, that vainly lends his light To grubs and eyeless skulls ? as I discern. It burneth in the Capels' monument. Bal. It doth so, holy sir ; and there 's my master, One that you love. Fri. L. Who is it ? Bal. Eomeo. Fri. L. How long hath he been there ? Bal. Full half an hour. 130 Fri. L. Go with me to the vault. Bal. I dare not, sir : My master knows not but I am gone hence ; And fearfully did menace me with death, If I did stay to look on his intents. Fri. L. Stay, then ; I 'U go alone. Fear comes upon me : O. much I fear some ill unlucky thing. Bal. As I did sleep under this yew-tree here I dreamt my master and another fought, ^ • 90 ROMEO AND JULIET. [act v. And that my master slew him. Fri. L. Romeo ! [Advances. 'Alack, alack, what blood is this, which stains 140 The stony entrance of this sepulchre 1 What mean these niasterless and gory swords iTo lie discoloiu-'d by this place of 2)eace ? [Enters the tomh. Romeo ! O, pale ! Who else ? wliat, Paris too ? And steep'd in blood ? Ah, what an unkind hour Is guilty of this lamentable chance ! The lady stirs. [Juliet wakes. Jul. O, comfortable friar ! where is my lord ? I do remember well where I should be, And there I am. Where is my Romeo ? [Noise vnthin. 150 Fri. L. I hear some noise. Lady, come from that nest Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep : A greater power than we can contradict Hath thwarted our intents. Come, come away. Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead ; And Paris too. Come, I '11 dispose of thee Among a sisterhood of holy nuns : Stay not to question, for the watch is coming ; Come, go, good Juliet [Noise again], I dare no longer stay. Jtd. Go, get thee hence, for I will not away. 160 [E.vit Fri. L. What's here ? a cup, closed in my true love's hand % Poison, I see, hath been his timeless ejid : O churl ! drunk all, and left no friendly drop To hel]} me after l I Avill kiss thy lips ; Haply some poison yet doth hang on them, To make me die with a restorative. [Kissts him. Thy lips are warm. First Watch. [ Withiii] Lead, bo}- : which way ? Jid. Yea, noise ? then I '11 be brief. O happy dagger I [Snatching Romeo's dagger. This is thy sheath [Stabs herself] ; there rust, and let me die. [Falls on Romeo's body, and dies. SCENE III ] ROMEO AND JULIET. 91 Enter Watch, tinth the Page of Paris. Page. This is the place ; there, where the torch doth burn. First Watch. The ground is bloody ; search about the churchyard : 171 Go, some of you, whoe'er you find attach. Pitiful sight ! here lies the county slain ; And Juliet bleeding, warm, and newly dead. Who here hath lain this two days buried. Go, tell the prince : run to the Caj)ulets : /v Raise i,ip the Montagues : some others search : /\ n ^ \ <^ ^^"^ We see the ground whereon these woes do^li^^''^/ // ' ' ^ 4-»>ui/ .j>^ But tlieJ:nie-gjjjimdx>£allJdi£se„piteou_s woes ^J -j k^^ "T^ '^ ^^ Cj^ We cannot without circumstance descry. '4 180 ^ Re-enter some of the Watch, mth Balthasar. Sec. Watch. Here 's Romeo's man ; we found him in the cliurchyard. First Watch. Hold him in safety till the prince come hither. He-enter others of the AVatch, idth Friar Laurence. Third Watch. Here is a friar, that trembles, sighs, and weeps : We took this mattock and this spade from him, As lie was caming from this churchyard side. First Watclt. A great suspicion : stay the friar too. Enter the Prince and Attendants. Prince. What misadventure is so early ujj, That calls our person from our morning's rest ? Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, and others. Cap. What should it be, that they so shriek abroad ? La. Cap. The people in the street cry Romeo, 190 Some Juliet, and some Paris ; and all run, 92 ROMEO AND JULIET. [act v. With open outcry, toward our moiuiment. Prince. What fear is this which startles in our ears ? First Watch. Sovereign, here lies the County Paris slain, And Romeo dead ; and Juliet, dead before. Warm and new kill'd. Prince. Search, seek, and know how this foul murder comes. Fh-st Watch. Here is a friar, and slaughter'd Romeo's man ; With instruments upon them, fit to open These dead men's tombs. 200 Cap. O heavens ! O wife, look how our daughter bleeds ! This dagger hath mista'en, for, lo, his house Is empty on the back of Montague, And it mis-sheathed in my daughter's bosom ! ir~^ La. Cap. O me_! tjiis sight^of death is as a bell, jl ijl' A Tliat warns my old an:e to^ se])ulchre. V ^ ri^f^ Enter Montague and others. Prince, Come, Montague ; for thou art early up. To see thy son and heir more early down. Mon. Alas, my liege, my wife is dead to-night ; Grief of my son's exile hath stopp'd her breath : 210 What further woe conspires against mine age ? Prince. Look, and thou shalt see. Mon. U thou untaught ! what manners is in this, To press before thy father to a grave 1 ^-t.*-*^ Prince. Seal up the mouth of outrage for a while, / 't^ ^d t^'^'^ Till we can clear these ambiguities, Ajidjciiow their spinng, their head, their true^descent ; <>-i^«-«^ y And then will I be geii¥iSr of your woes, -'4^^ And lead vou even to death : meantime forbear, And let mischance be slave to patience. 220 Bring forth the parties of suspicion. Fri. L. I am the greatest, able to do least, Yet most suspected, as the time and place Doth make against me, of this direful murder ; SCENE III.] ROMEO AND JULIET. 93 And here I stand, both to impeach and purge *